\ 


'm 


-mm 


^•:"^  \ 


Ctr- 


:.^t 


^'-J'^Xi 


HE    PLAYS    OF    SOPHOCLES 


f    GEORGE    ROUTLEDGE    AND    SONS,    Limited 

BROADWAY    HOUSE,    LUDGATE     HILL,    E.G. 
NEW  YORK :    E.  P.  DUTTON  &  CO. 


\ 


THE     PLAYS 


SOPHOCLES 


TRANSLATED   INTO    ENGLISH   VERSE  BY 

THOMAS     FRANCKLIN 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  HENRY  MORLEY 

LL.D.,    LATE   PROFESSOR   OF   ENGLISH    LITERATURE   AT 
UNIVERSITY   COLLEGE,    LONDON 


I 


*      ' ' '   -  K  o  i  T  r  ;> 

Of  / 


LONDON 

GEORGE    ROUTLEDGE    AND    SONS,    Limited 

BROADWAY    HOUSE,    LUDGATE     HILL,    E.G. 
NEW  YORK :    E.  P.  BUTTON  &  CO. 


Cf 

«£lL(FORtiL| 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  last  of  the  Plays  of  Sophocles,  brought  out  by  his 
grandson  five  years  after  his  death,  associates  GEdipus  with 
the  poet's  birthplace,  Colonus,  on  a  little  hill,  with  a  temple 
and  grove  sacred  to  the  Furies,  about  a  mile  distant  from 
Athens.  Here,  in  extreme  old  age,  Sophocles,  expecting  his 
own  death,  sang,  with  sympathy  in  every  tone,  tne  death  of 
CEdipus.  "  Far  as  my  eyes  can  reach,"  says  Antigone  to 
her  father, 

"  I  see  a  city 
With  lofty  turrets  crowned,  and,  if  I  err  not, 
This  place  is  sacred,  by  the  laurel  shade, 
Olive  and  vine  thick  planted,  and  the  songs 
Of  nightingales  sweet-wai-bling  through  the  grove." 

Here,  within  sight  of  Athens,  Sophocles  was  bom  about 
the  year  495  before  Christ,  five  years  before  the  battle  of 
Marathon.  He  was  about  thirty  years  younger  than 
^schj^lus,  whose  extant  plays  have  already  been  given  in 
this  Library,  and  fifteen  years  older  than  Enripi-des,  whose 
plays  will  hereafter  be  given.  These  are  the  three  Greek 
tragedians  whose  genius  laid  for  all  Europe  the  strong 
foundation  of  the  poetic  drama.  uEschylu^,  whose  fire 
burned  like  that  of  an  old  Hebrew  prophet,  shaped  his 
conceptions  broadly  and  grandly,  with  a  force  of  nature  that 
creates  the  forms  of  art.  Sophocles  followed,  and  with 
the  fine  touch  of  a  poet  working  under  influences  of  an  art 
already  vigorous  and  true  in  aim,  added  new  graces  of  his 
own;  in  the  clear  light  of  his  genius  the  Greek  pla^ 
ripened  to  the  fulness  of  its  beauty.  Then  followed  Eun- 
pides,  perhaps  more  faulty  than  either  of  his  predecessors, 
but  of  the  three  most  human,  and  to  us  moderns  rich  in 
echoes  of  the  thought  of  our  own  hearts ;  therefore  Milton 
loved  him. 

Sophocles  was  the  son  of  So^hilus.  He  was  trained 
liberally,  and  learned  to  so  excel  in  music,  dancing,  and  in 
exercises  of  the  body,  that  it  was  he  who  was  chosen,  as  a 
youth  of  fifteen,  to  lead,  naked  and  lyre  in  hand,  the  song 
and  dance  of  triumph  for  the  victory  at  Salamis.  About 
twelve  years  afterwards,  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven,  on  a 


-^  qnj^Q*^ 


INTRODUCTION. 

conspicuous  occasion,  when  accident  made  the  leading  men 
iu  Athens  umpires,  Sophocles  competed  with  ^schylus  and 
won  the  prize,  for  a  play  which  is  now  lost,  ^schylas  then 
withdrew  for  a  time  to  Sicily,  as  has  been  told  in  the 
Introduction  to  the  Plays  of  iEschylus.  Sophocles  remained 
at  Athens  in  highest  favour,  until  it  was  his  turn,  when 
veteran,  to  be  overcome  by  a  younj^er  poet,  and  in  the  year 
441  B.C.  the  first  prize  was  won  by  Euripides.  Of  the  Plays 
produced  by  Sophocles  during  twenty-eight  years,  from  the 
time  when  he  overcame  ^schylus  to  the  time  when  he  was 
overcome  by  Euripides,  not  one  remains. 

But  in  the  next  year  (440),  when  his  age  was  fifty-five,  he 
produced  his  Play  of  "  Antigone,"  and  for  the  wisdom  in  its 
poetic  counsels,  which  accorded  with  the  policy  of  Pericles, 
Sophocles  was  appointed  one  of  the  nine  military  leaders 
who  were  associated  with  Pericles  in  the  war  against  a  fac- 
tion at  Samos  Pericles  said  of  him  that  he  understood  the 
making  of  verses  better  than  the  marching  of  an  army. 
Military  duty  did  not  disturb  his  calm  or  spoil  his  dinners, 
and  even  in  camp  he  gave  good  dinners  to  his  friends. 
JEschylus  had  won  special  distinction  as  a  soldier ; 
Sophocles  neither  won  it  nor  cared  for  it. 

At  Samos,  Sophocles  made  acquaintance  with  Herodotus. 
The  poet  and  the  historian  met  afterwards  at  Athens,  and 
were  friends.  For  the  last  thirty-four  years  of  his  life 
Sophocles  was  a  patriot  in  troubled  times,  assenting  often 
to  a  next  best  policy  where  best  was  not  attainable,  and 
putting  his  heart  rather  into  his  Plays  than  into  the  wars  of 
l)arty  that  beset  him.  He  stayed  by  Athens  and  by  Colonus, 
with 

the  songs 
Of  nightingales  sweet- warbling  through  the  grove. 

His  Play  of  "  Antigone  "  was  followed  by  "  Electra  " ;  next 
came,  probably,  the  ''  Trachiniaa,"  "  CEdipus  Tyrannus," 
"  Ajax,'^  "  Philoctetes,"  and  "  CEdipus  Ooloneus." 

Sophocles  had  two  sons  :  one  named  lophon,  whose 
mother  was  a  free  Athenian  woman ;  the  other,  Ariston, 
whose  mother  was  of  Sicyon.  lophon  was  legal  heir,  but 
Ariston  had  a  son  who  was  named  Sophocles  after  his 
grandfather,  and  lophon  was  joalous  of  the  old  man's 
tenderness  towards  his  grandson,  fearing  lest  the  boy  might 
get  some  part  of  lophon's  inheritance.  lophon  therefore 
jmblicly  accused  his  father  of  imbecility — said  that,  his 
mind  being  affected  by  his  great  age,  he  was  not  capable  of 
making  a  will.  The  old  man  replied:  "If  I  am  Sophocles, 
1  am  not  beside  myself;  and  if  I  am  beside  myself,  I  am 
not  Sophocles."     He  then  read,  as  evidence  of  his  sanity, 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

a  chorus  in  sweet  praise  of  his  native  soil,  from  the 
"  CEdipus  at  Oolonus,"  which  he  had  just  written  : 

Thou  art  come  in  happy  time, 
Stranger,  to  this  bhssful  clime  ; 
Long  for  swiftest  steeds  renowned, 
Fertil'st  of  the  region  round  ; 
Whei'e,  beneath  the  ivy  shade, 
In  the  dew-besprinkh^d  giude. 
Many  a  love-lorn  nightingale 
Warbles  sweet  her  plaintive  tale. — &c. 

The  reader  will  find  at  p.  287  the  chorus  in  the  Play,  which 
caused  the  judges  to  dismiss  the  charge  of  imbecility  with 
acclamation  of  a  genius  still  fresh.  That  Sophocles  bore  no 
malice  to  his  son  is  inferred  from  another  passage  in  the 
same  swan  song,  where  Antigone  pleads  to  her  father  for 
Polynices : 

Remember,  'tis  thy  child — 
Thou  didst  beget  him  ;  though  he  were  the  worst 
Of  sons  to  thee,  yet  would  it  ill  become 
A  father  to  return  it.     Let  him  come. 
Others  like  thee  have  base,  unworthy  children, 
And  yet  their  minds  are  softened  to  forgiveness 
By  friends'  advice,  and  all  their  wrath  subdued." 

Sophocles  was  about  ninety  years  old  when  he  died  :  he 
was  dead  in  the  year  405.  The  enjoyment  of  his  Plays  will 
be  heightened  to  the  reader  who  recalls  to  memory  the 
course  of  events  in  the  history  of  Athens  during  the  fifty 
years  after  the  battle  of  Salamis  ;  for  a  large  part  of  a  true 
man's  life,  and  all  his  work,  lies  in  the  world  that  is  about 
him. 

Eobert  Potter,  the  translator  of  ^schylus,  also  translated 
the  Plays  of  Euripides  and  Sophocles.  He  was  born  in  and 
graduated  from  Emmanuel  College,  Cambridge,  took  orders, 
and  was  incumbent,  first,  of  Scarning,  and  afterwards  of 
Lowestoft.  He  wrote  poems  of  his  own,  which  he  collected 
in  1774,  and  published,  three  years  afterwards,  in  one  quarto 
volume,  his  translation  of  ^^schylas.  This  was  received 
with  very  great  favour,  and  was  often  republished,  with 
addition  of  notes,  in  two  volumes  8vo.  In  1781  Potter's 
^schylus  was  followed  by  the  first  volume  of  his  translation 
of  Euripides  ;  the  second  volume  followed  close  upon  the 
first,  in  1782.  In  1783  Potter  issued  a  pamphlet  meant  as 
vindication  of  Gray  in  "  An  Enquiry  into  some  Passages  of 
Dr.  Johnson's  Lives  of  the  Poets,"  and  in  1785  followed 
a  translation  of  the  Oracle  concerning  Babylon,  and  the 
Song  of  Exultation  from  Isaiah,  chapters  xiii.  and  xiv.  In 
1788   he  completed  his  work  on  the  Greek  Tragedians  by 


INTRODUCTION. 

publisnmg  hi^  translation  of  Sophocles.  He  died  in  1804. 
Potter's  work  was  at  its  best  and  freshest  in  his  ^Eschy- 
lus.  His  translation  of  Enripides  was  rivalled  by  that  of 
Woodhull,  which  appeared  at  the  same  time ;  and  his 
Sophocles  did  not  surpass  the  preceding  translation  of  Dr. 
Fra'icklin 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Thomas  Francklin  was  an  older  man,  whose 
whole  life  was  contemporary  with  Samuel  Johnson's.  He 
was  twelve  years  younger,  but  Johnson  and  he  died  in  the 
same  year,  1784.  He  dedicated  ta  Johnson  his  translation  of 
Lucian,  and  caught  Johnson's  fancy  by  defining  man  as  a 
tool-making  animal.  Johnson  he  styled  in  his  Dedication 
"  the  Deraonax  of  the  present  age  ;  "  Lucian  having  de- 
scribed Demonax  as  "the  best  philosopher  whom  I  have 
ever  seen  or  known." 

Thomas  Francklin  (whose  name  was  and  is  commonly 
spelt  Franklin)  was  born  in  London  in  1720,  son  to  Robert 
Francklin,  printer  of  The  Craftsman,  and  educated  at 
Westminster  School.  He  went  on  to  Trinity  College, 
(/ambridge,  graduated,  and  became  a  Fellow  of  his  College ; 
also  Greek  Professor  in  the  University.  In  December  1758 
he  was  instituted  vicar  of  Ware  and  Thunderidge,  and  after- 
wards rector  of  Braxted  in  Essex.  He  proceeded  to  the 
degree  of  D.D.,  and  he  became  chaplain  in  ordinary  to  King 
George  the  Third.  As  a  Greek  scholar  he  translated  Lucian 
as  well  as  Sophocles.  His  Sophocles,  dedicated  to  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  appeared  in  1759.  Dr.  Francklin  wrote 
also  two  tragedies :  the  "  Earl  of  Ws.rwick,"  borrowed  frotn 
De  la  Harpe,  acted  with  great  success  in  1767;  and 
"Matilda,"  acted  in  1775,  also  with  great  applause,  and 
borrowed  from  Voltaire's  "  Due  de  Foix."  Francklin  pro- 
duced also,  without  success,  a  two-act  comedy  called  "  The 
Contract,"  founded  on  D'Eatouche's  "  L' Amour  Us6."  He 
also  edited,  with  Smollett,  a  translation  of  Voltaire,  in 
which  his  own  part  was  only  a  translation  of  two  of 
Voltaire's  tragedies:  "Orestes,"  which  was  acted  for  Mrs. 
Yates's  benefit  in  March  1769;  and  "  Electra,"  in  1774. 
In  his  own  day  Dr.  Francklin  lost  popularity  by  severities  of 
judgment  as  a  writer  in  the  Critical  Review  when  Smollett 
was  its  editor.    This  caused  Churchill  to  say  of  him — 

Others  for  Francklin  voted,  but  'twas  known 
He  sickened  .at  all  triumphs  but  his  own. 

He  is  chiefly  known  to  us  now  as  the  best  eighteenth- 
century  translator  of  the  Plays  of  Sophocles. 

H.  M. 

November  1886. 


A  J  AX. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Minerva. 

Ulysses. 

Ajax. 

Tecmessa,  Wife  of  Ajax. 

Teucer,  Brother  to  Ajax. 


Agamemnon. 
Menelaus. 
Messenger. 

Chorus,  composed  of  Ancient 
Men  of  Salamis. 


ACT    I. 


Scene  I. — A  Field  near  the  Tent  of  Ajax. 
Minerva,  Ulysses. 

Minerva.  Son  of  Laertes,  thy  unwearied  spirit 
Is  ever  watchful  to  surprise  the  foe  ; 
I  have  observed  thee  wandering  midst  the  tents 
In  search  of  Ajax,  where  his  station  lies, 
At  th'  utmost  verge,  and  meas'ring  o'er  his  steps 
But  late  impressed ;  like  Sparta's  hounds  of  scent 
Sagacious  dost  thou  trace  him,  nor  in  vain ; 
For  know,  the  man  thou  seekst  is  not  far  from  thee  : 
Yonder  he  lies,  with  reeking  brow  and  hands 
Deep-stained  with  gore  ;  cease  then  thy  search,  and  tell 

me 
Wherefore  thou  com'st,  that  so  I  may  inform 
Thy  doubting  mind,  and  best  assist  thy  purpose. 

Uly.  Minerva,  dearest  of  th'  immortal  powers, 


not,  that  well-known 
Doth  like  the  Tyrrhene  trump  awake  my  soul, 
Right  hast  thou  s£iid,  I  come  to  search  my  foe, 
Sliiehl-bearing  Ajax  :  him  alone  1  seek  : 
A  deed  of  horror  hath  he  done  this  night, 
If  it  be  he,  for  yet  we  are  to  know 
The  certain  proof,  and  therefoi'e  came  I  here 
A  willing  messenger  :  the  cattle  all, 
Our  flocks  and  herds,  are  with  their  shepherds  slain. 
To  Ajax  every  tongue  imputes  the  crime  ; 
One  of  our  spies,  who  saw  him  on  the  plain, 
His  sword  still  reeking  with  fresh  blood,  confirmed  it 
Instant  1  fled  to  search  him,  and  sometimes 
I  trace  his  footsteps,  which  again  I  lose 
I  know  not  how  ;  in  happy  hour  thou  com'st 
To  aid  me,  Goddess ;  thy  pi'otecting  hand 
Hath  ruled  me  ever,  and  to  thee  I  trust 
My  future  fate. 

'Min.  I  know  it  well,  Ulysses, 

And  therefore  come  to  guard  and  to  assist  thee 
Propitious  to  thy  purpose. 

Uly.  Do  I  right, 

My  much -loved  mistress  1 

Mix.  Doubtless;  his  foul  deed 

Doth  well  deserve  it. 

Uly.  What  could  prompt  his  hand 

To  such  a  desperate  act  1 

MiN.  Achilles'  arms  ; 

His  rage  for  loss  of  them. 

Uly.  But  wherefore  thus 

Destroy  the  flock  ? 

MiN.  'Twas  in  your  blood  he  thought 

His  hands  were  stained. 

Uly.  Against  the  Grecians  then 

Was  all  his  WTath  ? 

MiN.  And  fatal  had  it  proved 

To  them,  if  I  had  not  prevented  it. 

Uly.  What  darijig  insolence  could  move  his  soul 
To  such  a  deed  ? 

MiN.  Alone  by  night  he  wandered 

In  secret  to  attack  you. 


Uly.                                Did  he  come 
Close  to  our  tents  ?  

MiN.  Even  to  the  double  portal 

Where  rest  your  chiefs. 

Uly.  What  power  could  then  withhold 

His  mad'ning  hand  ? 

MiN.  I  purposely  deceived 

His  sight,  and  saved  him  from  the  guilty  joy, 
Turning  his  rage  against  the  mingled  flocks, 
Your  gathered  spoil ;  on  these  with  violence 
He  rushed,  and  slaughtered  many ;  now  he  thought 
That  he  had  slain  th'  Atridse,  now  believed 
Some  other  chiefs  had  perished  by  his  hand, 
I  saw  his  madness  and  still  urged  him  on, 
That  he  might  fall  into  the  snare  I  laid  : 
Tired  with  his  slaughter  now  he  binds  in  chains 
The  living  victim,  drives  the  captive  herd 
Home  to  his  tent,  nor  doubts  but  they  are  men  : 
There  beats  with  many  a  stripe  the  helpless  foe, 
But  I  will  show  thee  this  most  glaring  frenzy, 
That  to  the  Grecians  what  thy  eyes  behold 
Thou  mayst  report ;  be  confident,  nor  fear 
His  utmost  malice ;  I  shall  turn  his  sight 
Askant  from  thee.     Ajax,  what  ho  !  come  forth. 
Thou  who  dost  bind  in  chains  thy  captive  foes  ! 
Ajax,  I  say,  come  forth  before  the  portal.  [him. 

Uly.  What  wouldst  thou  do,  Minerva  ?     Do  not  call 

MiN.  What  should  Ulysses  fear  1 

Uly.  Oh  !  by  the  gods 

I  do  entreat  thee,  let  him  stay  within. 

MiN.  But    wherefore?     Thou    hast    seen    him    here 
before. 

Uly.  He  ever  was  and  is  my  deadliest  foe. 

MiN.  Oh  !  but  to  laugh  an  enemy  to  scorn 
Is  mirth  most  grateful. 

Uly.  I  had  rather  still 

He  came  not  here. 

MiN.  And  art  thou  then  afraid 

To  see  a  madman  1 

Uly.  I  should  little  dread 

The  sight  of  Ajax  in  his  bettei'  mind. 


MiN.  He  will  not  see  tlieo  be  thou  e'er  so  near, 

Uly.  Impossible  I  his  eyes  are  still  the  same. 

MiN.  But  I  sliall  throw  a  veil  of  darkness  o'er  them. 

Uly.  By  powers  immortal  all  things  may  be  done. 

MiN.  Wait  then  in  silence  till  he  comes. 

Uly.  I  will  ; 

And  yet  'twere  better  to  retire. 

MiN.  What  ho ! 

Ajax,  again  I  call  thee;  wherefore  payst  thou 
So  little  reverence  to  thy  guardian  power? 


Scene  II. 
Ajax,  Minerva,  Ulysses. 

Ajax.  Hail  to  the  daughter  of  great  Jove  !  to  thee, 
Minerva,  hail !  Thou  com'st  in  happy  hour, 
For  I  will  crown  thee  with  the  golden  spoils 
Which  I  have  gained  by  thy  assisting  hand. 

MiN.  Well  hast  thou  spoke ;  but  say,  has  Ajax 
dipped 
His  spear  in  Grecian  blood  ? 

Ajax.  It  is  my  boast: 

I'll  not  deny  it. 

MiN.  Did  th'  Atridae  feel 

Thy  vengeful  arm  ? 

Ajax.  They  never  will  again 

Dishonour  Ajax. 

MiN.  If  I  understand  thee, 

They  are  both  dead. 

Ajax.  They  are  ;  now  let  them  come, 

And  take  my  arms  away. 

MiN.  But  tell  me,  Ajax  ; 

Laertes'  son,  hath  he  escaped  thy  wrath  ? 

Ajax.  Talkst  thou  of  him,  that  fox  accursed  ? 

MiN.  I  mean 

Thy  foe,  Ulysses. 

Ajax.  Oh  I  he  is  my  captive, 

The  fairest  of  my  spoils ;  I  have  him  here ; 
He  shall  not  perish  yet. 


MiN.  What  'vantage  then 

M  eanst  thou  to  draw  from  his  confinement  ? 

Ajax.  First, 

I'll  have  him  bound  to  the  pillar. 

MiN.  And  what  then 

Wouldst  thou  inflict  ? 

Ajax.  His  limbs  all  purpled  o'er 

With  many  a  bloody  stripe,  he  shall  be  slain. 

MiN.  Do  not  torment  him  thus. 

Ajax.  In  all  things  else, 

Minerva,  would  I  gratify  thy  will, 
But  this,  and  this  alone  must  be  his  fate. 

MiN.  Since  'tis  so  pleasing  to  thee,  be  it  so. 
Nor  quit  thy  purpose. 

Ajax.  I  must  to  my  work ; 

Thus,  great  Minerva,  mayst  thou  ever  smile 
Propitious  on  me,  and  assist  thy  Ajax  !  [Exit. 

Scene  III. 
Minerva,  Ulysses. 

MiN.  Behold,  Ulysses,  here  the  mighty  strength 
Of  power  divine  :  lived  there  a  man  more  wise, 
More  famed  for  noble  deeds  than  Ajax  was? 

Uly.  None,  none  indeed ;  alas  !  I  pity  him  ; 
E'en  in  a  foe  I  pity  such  distress. 
For  he  is  wedded  to  the  worst  of  woes  : 
His  hapless  state  reminds  me  of  my  own. 
And  tells  me  that  frail  mortals  are  no  more 
Than  a  vain  image  and  an  empty  shade. 

MiN.  Let  such  examples  teach  thee  to  beware 
Against  the  gods  thou  utter  aught  profane ; 
And  if  perchance  in  riches  or  in  power 
Thou  shin'st  superior,  be  not  insolent ; 
For,  know,  a  day  sufficeth  to  exalt 
Or  to  depress  the  state  of  mortal  man  : 
The  wise  and  good  are  by  the  gods  beloved, 
But  those  who  practise  evil  they  abhor,  [^Exeunt. 


»4 

Chorus. 


To  thee,  O  Ajax  !  valiant  son 
Of  illustrious  Telamon, 
Monarch  of  the  sea-girt  isle, 
I'^iiir  Salamis,  if  fortune  smile 
C)n  thee,  I  raise  the  tributary  song, 
For  praise  and  virtue  still  to  thee  belong  : 
But  when,  inflicted  by  the  wrath  of  Jove, 
Grecian  slander  blasts  thy  fame, 
And  foul  reproach  attaints  thy  name, 
Then  do  I  tremble  like  the  fearful  dove. 


80,  the  last  unhappy  night, 
Glamours  loud  did  reach  mine  ear 
And  filled  my  anxious  heart  with  fear, 
Which  talked  of  Grecian  cattle  slain, 
And  Ajax  maddening  o'er  the  plain, 
Pleased  at  his  prey,  rejoicing  at  the  sight. 

III. 

Thus  false  Ulysses  can  prevail, 

Whisp'ring  to  all  his  artful  tale. 
His  tale  alas  !  too  willingly  received  ; 

Whilst  those  who  hear  are  glad  to  know 

And  happy  to  insult  thy  woe. 
For  who  asperse  the  great  are  easily  believed. 

IV. 

The  poor  like  us  alone  are  free 
From  the  darts  of  calumny. 

Whilst  envy  still  attends  on  high  estate : 
Small  is  the  aid  which  we  can  lend, 
Without  the  rich  and  powerful  friend ; 

Tlie  great  support  the  low,  the  low  assist  the  great. 

But  'tis  a  truth  which  fools  will  never  know ; 
From  such  alone  the  clamours  came 
Which  strove  to  hurt  thy  spotless  fame, 

Whilst  we  can  only  weep,  and  not  relieve  thy  woe. 


V. 

Happy  to  'scape  thy  piercing  sight, 
Behold  them  wing  their  rapid  flight, 

As  trembling  birds  from  hungry  vultures  fly, 
Sudden  again  shouldst  thou  appear, 
The  cowards  would  be  mute  with  fear. 

And  all  their  censures  in  a  moment  die. 

VI. 

Cynthia,  goddess  of  the  grove. 

Daughter  of  immortal  Jove, 
To  whom  at  Tauris  frequent  altars  rise, 

Indignant  might  inspire  the  deed, 

And  bid  the  guiltless  cattle  bleed, 
Deprived  of  incense  due,  and  wonted  sacrifice. 
Perhaps,  sad  cause  of  all  our  grief  and  shame  ! 

The  god  of  war  with  brazen  shield, 

For  fancied  inj'ries  in  the  field, 
Might  thus  avenge  the  wrong,  and  brand  thy  name, 


For  never  in  his  perfect  mind 

Had  Ajax  been  to  ill  inclined. 
On  flocks  and  herds  his  rage  had  never  spent ; 

It  was  inflicted  from  above  : 

May  Phoebus  and  all-powerful  Jove 
Avert  the  crime,  or  stop  the  punishment ! 
If  to  th'  Atridse  the  bold  fiction  came 

From  Sisyphus'  detested  race, 

No  longer,  Ajax,  hide  thy  face, 
But  from  thy  tents  come  forth,  and  vindicate  thy 
fame. 

Vlll. 

Ajax,  thy  too  long  repose 

Adds  new  vigour  to  thy  foes, 
As  flames  from  aiding  winds  still  fiercer  grow ; 

Whilst  the  loose  laugh,  and  shameless  Ue, 

And  all  their  bitter  calumny, 
AVith  double  weight  oppress  and  fill  our  hearts  with 
woe. 


i6  l^^B'     AJTAX. 

ACT  11. 

Scene  I. 
Tecmessa,  Chorus. 

Tecmessa.  Sons  of  Erectheus,  of  Athenian  race, 
Ye  brave  companions  of  the  vaUant  Ajax, 
Oppressed  with  grief  behold  a  wretched  woman, 
Far  from  her  native  soil,  appointed  here 
To  watch  your  hapless  lord,  and  mourn  his  fate. 

CnoR    What  new  misfortune  hath  the  night  brought 
forth  ? 
Say,  daughter  of  Teleutas,  for  with  thee. 
His  captive  bride,  the  noble  Ajax  deigns 
To  share  the  nuptial  bed,  and  therefore  thou 
Canst  best  inform  us. 

Tec.  How  shall  1  declare 

Sadder  than  death  th'  unutterable  woe ! 
This  night,  with  madness  seized,  hath  Ajax  done 
A  dreadful  deed ;  within  thou  mayst  behold 
The  tent 's  o'erspread  with  bloody  carcases 
Of  cattle  slain,  the  victims  of  his  rage. 

Chor.  Sad  news  indeed  thou  bringst  of  that  brave 
man : 
A  dire  disease  !  and  not  by  human  aid 
To  be  removed  ;  already  Greece  hath  heard 
And  wond'ring  crowds  repeat  the  dreadful  tale ; 
Alas  !  I  fear  th'  event !  I  fear  me  much. 
Lest,  with  their  flocks  and  herds  the  shepherds  slain, 
Against  himself  he  lift  his  murth'rous  hand. 

Tec.  Alas  !  this  way  he  led  his  captive  spoils. 
And  some  he  slew,  and  others  tore  in  sunder ; 
From  out  the  flock  two  rams  of  silver  hue 
He  chose,  from  one  the  head  and  tongue  divided, 
He  cast  them  from  him  ;  then  the  other  chained 
Fast  to  the  pillar,  with  a  double  rein 
Bore  cruel  stripes,  and  bitt'rest  execrations, 
Which  not  from  mortal  came,  but  were  inspired 
By  that  avenging  god  who  thus  torments  him. 


AyAX.  17 

Chor.  Now  then,  ray  friends  (for  so  the  time 
demands), 
Each  o'er  his  head  should  cast  the  mournful  veil, 
And  instant  fly,  or  to  our  ships  repair, 
And  sail  with  speed ;  for  dreadful  are  the  threats 
Of  the  Atridse ;  death  may  be  our  lot, 
And  we  shall  meet  an  equal  punishment 
With  him  whom  we  lament,  our  frantic  lord. 

Tec.  He  raves  not  now ;  but  like  the  southern  blast. 
When  lightnings  cease  and  all  the  storm  is  o'er, 
Grows  calm  again ;  yet  to  his  sense  restored, 
He  feels  new  griefs ;  for  oh  !  to  be  unhappy. 
And  know  ourselves  alone  the  guilty  cause 
Of  all  our  sorrows,  is  the  worst  of  woes, 

Chor.  Yet  if  his  rage  subside  we  should  rejoice ; 
The  ill  removed,  we  should  remove  our  care. 

Tec.  Hadst  thou  then  rather,  if  the  choice  were  given, 
Thyself  at  ease,  behold  thy  friend  in  pain. 
Than  with  thy  friend  be  joined  in  mutual  sorrow  1 

Chor.     The  double  grief  is  sure  the  most  oppressive. 

Tec.  Therefore,  though  not  distempered,  I  am 
wretched. 

Chor.  I  understand  thee  not. 

Tec.  The  noble  Ajax, 

Whilst  he  was  mad,  was  happy  in  his  frenzy, 
And  yet  the  while  affected  me  with  grief 
Who  was  not  so ;  but  now  his  rage  is  o'er, 
And  he  hath  time  to  breathe  from  his  misfortune, 
Himself  is  almost  dead  with  grief,  and  I 
Not  less  unhappy  than  I  was  before ; 
Is  it  not  double  then  ? 

Chor.  It  is  indeed ; 

And  much  I  fear  the  wrath  of  angry  heaven, 
If  from  his  madness  ceased  he  yet  receive 
No  kind  rehef . 

Tec.  'Tis  so ;  and  'twere  most  fit 

You  knew  it  well. 

Chor.  Say  then  how  it  began  ; 

For  like  thyself  we  feel  for  his  misfortune.^. 

Tec.  Since  you  partake  the  sorrows  of  a  friend, 
I'll  tell  vou  all.     Know  then,  at  dead  of  ni'^'ht, 


AJAX. 

What  time  the  evening  taper  were  expired, 
Snatching  his  sword,  he  seemed  as  if  he  meant 
To  roam  abroad.     I  saw  and  chid  him  for  it ; 
What  wouldst  thou  do,  I  cried,  my  dearest  Ajax  i 
Unasked,  uncalled  for,  whither  wouldst  thou  go  1 
No  trunipt't  sounds  to  battle,  the  whole  host 
Is  wrapped  in  sleep.     Then  did  he  answer  me 
With  brief  but  sharp  rebuke,  as  he  was  wont : 
'*  Woman,  thy  sex's  noblest  ornament 

jl;  Is  silence."     Thus  reproved,  I  said  no  more. 

•     Tlien  forth  he  rushed  alone,  where,  and  for  what, 
I  knew  not ;  but  returning,  he  brought  home 
In  chains  tlie  captive  herd,  in  pieces  some 
He  tore,  whilst  others  bound  like  slaves  he  lashed 
Indignant ;  then  out  at  the  portal  ran, 
And  with  some  shadow  seemed  to  hold  discourse 
Against  tli'  Atrida?,  and  Ulysses  oft 
Would  he  inveigh  ;  or,  laughing  loud,  rejoice 
That  he  had  ta'en  revenge  for  all  his  wrongs ; 
Then  back  he  came.     At  length,  by  slow  degrees, 
His  frenzy  ceased  ;  when,  soon  as  he  beheld 
The  tents  o'erwhelmed  with  slaughter,  he  cried  out, 
And  beat  his  brain  ;  rolled  o'er  the  bloody  heaps 
Of  cattle  slain,  and  tore  his  clotted  hair. 
Long  fixed  in  silence :  then,  with  horrid  threats 
He  bade  me  tell  him  all  that  had  befallen 
And  what  he  had  been  doing.     I  obeyed. 
Trembling  with  fear,  and  told  him  all  I  knew. 
Instant  he  poured  forth  bitt'rest  lamentations, 
Such  as  I  ne'er  had  heard  from  him  before. 
For  grief  like  that,  he  oft  would  say,  betrayed 
A  weak  and  little  mind,  and  therefore  ever 
When  sorrow  came  refrained  from  loud  complaint. 
And,  like  the  lowing  heifer,  inly  mourned. 
But  sinking  now  beneath  this  sore  distress. 
He  will  not  taste  of  food  or  nourishment ; 
Silent  he  sits,  amid  the  slaughtered  cattle, 
Or,  if  he  speaks,  utters  such  dreadful  words 
As  shows  a  mind  intent  on  something  ill. 
Now. then,  my  friends,  for  therefore  came  I  hither. 
Oh  I  if  ye  have  the  power,  assist  me  now ; 


19 

Perhaps  ye  may ;  for  oft  th'  afflicted  man 
Will  listen  to  the  counsels  of  a  friend. 

Chor.  0  daughter  of  Teleutas  !   horrible 
Indeed  thy  tidings  are  of  noble  Ajax, 
Thus  raving,  and  thus  miserable. 

Ajax  [within,  groans\.  Oh  ! 

Tec.  Louder  you'll  hear  him  soon ;  marked  ye,   my 
friends, 
How  deep  his  groans  ] 

Ajax  \within\.         O  me  ! 

Chor.  He  seems  to  rave, 

Or  mourns,  reflecting  on  his  madness  past. 

Ajax  [within].  Boy,  boy  ! 

Tec.  Alas  !  he  calls  Eurysaces. 

Where   art   thou,  child?     What   would   he  have   with 
thee? 

Ajax  [ivithin].    Teucer,    'tis  thee   I    call;  where   art 
thou,  Teucer  ? 
Still  must  he  chase  his  prey,  whilst  Ajax  dies  ? 

Chor.  He  seems  of  perfect  mind — open  the  doors, 
Let  him  come  forth.    Who  knows  but  sight  of  us 
May  keep  him  so. 

Tec.  I'll  open  them — now  see 

\The  doors  are  thrown  open  and  Ajax  discovered. 
Your  master  there,  and  judge  of  his  condition. 


Scene  II. 
Ajax,  Tecmessa,  Chorus. 

Ajax.  My  dear  companions,  who  alone  deserve 
The  name  of  friends,  ye  see  the  dreadful  storm 
How  it  o'er  whelms  me. 

Chor.  \aside  to  Tecmessa].  What  thou  saidst,  alas  ! 
Was  but  too  true ;  he  seems  indeed  distracted. 

Ajax.  My  fellow-sailors  !  whose  assisting  hand 
Plied  the  tough  oar,  and  led  me  through  the  main, 
From  you  alone  can  I  expect  to  meet 
Or  love  or  friendship ;  therefore  show  it  now, 
And  kill  me. 


AJAX. 

Chor.  Talk  not  thus,  nor  thus  increase 

By  added  woes  tliy  dreadful  malady. 

Ajax.  Dost  thou  behold  th\s  once  intrepid  Ajax, 
The  brave,  the  mighty,  long  for  strength  renowned 
And  dauntless  courage  in  the  bloody  iield  ;  j 

Dost  thou  l)ehold  him  ?    Oh  !   what  laughter  now, 
What  vile  reproach  must  he  sustain  ! 

Tec.  O  Ajax ! 

My  lord,  my  master,  do  not  talk  thus  sadly. 

Ajax  \to  Tecmessa].  Wilt  thou  not  home  ?    Wilt  not 
be  gone  ? 

Tec.  O  me ! 

CnoR.  Be  patient ;  by  the  gods  let  me  entreat  you, 
Be  more  composed. 

Ajax.  Wretch  that  I  was,  to  let 

The  curst  Atridse  'scape,  and  shed  the  blood 
Of  harmless  cattle ! 

Chor.  But  why  sorrow  thus 

For  what  is  past,  and  cannot  be  recalled  ? 

Ajax.  How  will  that  subtle  instrument  of  ill, 
Laertes'  prying  son,  insult  me  now, 
And  smile  at  my  misfortunes  ! 

Chor.  That  must  be 

As  seems  most  fitting  to  the  gods ;  from  them 
Or  grief  or  joy  must  flow. 

Ajax.  Oh  !  would  to  heaven 

That  I  could  see  him  !  wretched  as  I  am  ! 

Chor.  This  is  no  time  for  boasting  :  seest  thou  not 
How  very  weak  thou  art  ? 

Ajax.  Almighty  Jove, 

My  great  progenitor  !  oh,  grant  me  this  ! 
Grant  me  to  slay  that  hateful,  talking  slave. 
With  the  proud  princes ;  then  well  pleased  myself 
Should  perish  last. 

Tec.  Oh !  if  thou  prayst  for  death, 

Pray  too  for  mine  ;  for  wherefoi-e  should  I  live 
When  thou  art  gone  1 

Ajax.  O  darkness !  my  best  light 

And  hope !  oh  wrap  me  in  your  friendly  shade, 
A  TTillIng  gucct !  I  daro  net  look  for  IiqI~), 
Or  from  the  gods  above,  or  men  below  ; 


The  powerful  daughter  of  eternal  Jove 
To  death  devotes  me.     Whither  can  I  fly, 
Or  where  remain,  my  fame  and  glory  lost 
In  this  sad  frenzy  ?     Left  without  a  friend, 
And  the  whole  army  bent  on  my  destruction  ! 

Tec.  Alas  !  how  dreadful  'tis  to  hear  such  words, 
Which  Ajax  never  would  have  spoke  before  ! 

Ajax.  Ye  well-known  floods  that  roll  into  the  main. 
Ye  caves  and  forests  by  the  rocky  shore  ! 
Years  heaped  on  years  fast  by  the  walls  of  Troy 
Have  ye  detained  me,  but  no  longer  now 
Amongst  the  living  shall  ye  ever  see 
The  hapless  Ajax  ;  this  remember  all : 
Nor  shall  thy  neighbouring  waves,  Scamander,  still 
To  Greece  beneficent,  behold  me  more  : 
Troy  never  saw,  forgive  the  boastful  word, 
A  braver,  nobler  foe  than  Ajax  was. 
Though  now  dishonoured  thus,  and  thus  oppressed. 

Chor.  I  would  not  have  thee  thus  lament  thy  woes, 
And  yet  I  know  not  how  to  chide  thee  for  it. 
So  hard  thy  lot. 

Ajax.  Who  would  have  thought  my  name 

Would  e'er  so  well  have  suited  my  condition  ! 
Oh !  I  have  reason  to  lament  indeed. 
For  sure  there  is  not  such  a  wretch  as  Ajax ! 
Long  since  at  Troy  my  valiant  father  fought. 
And  to  his  native  land,  with  glory  crowned, 
Bore  back  the  meed  of  his  distinguished  virtues : 
Nor  less  renowned  for  gallant  deeds  was  once 
His  hapless  son,  though  now  he  perish  thus 
Inglorious  :  yet  Achilles,  well  I  know, 
Were  he  alive,  and  to  bestow  his  arms 
On  him  who  best  deserved  the  prize,  to  me. 
And  me  alone,  would  'judge,  the  greo.t  reward  : 
But  little  deemed  the  Atridse  worth  like  mine. 
And  therefore  gave  them  to  that  vile  impostor. 
Author  of  every  evil  work,  Ulysses. 
Had  not  my  mind  been  wrought  on  by  some  power 
Superior,  and  my  eyes  averted  from  them. 
They  had  not  lived  to  give  another  sentence ; 
But  Jove's  great  daughter,  the  invincible, 


The  dreadful  Pallas,  turned  my  arm  aside, 

Just  raised  against  them,  and  inspired  me  thus 

With  liorrid  rage  to  dip  my  murd'rous  hand 

In  blood  of  guiltless  cattle  :  they  meantime 

Smile  at  tlie  danger  'scaped,  and  triumph  o'er  me. 

But,  when  the  gods  oppose  us,  valour  bends 

To  cowai-dico,  and  strength  to  weakness  yields ; 

AVhat  then  can  Ajax  ?  hateful  to  the  gods. 

By  Troy  detested,  and  by  Greece  forsaken  ? 

Shall  I  go  leave  the  Atridae  here  alone 

To  fight  their  cause,  and  seek  my  native  land  ? 

But  how  shall  I  appear  before  my  father. 

How  will  he  bear  to  see  his  Ajax  thus 

Spoiled  of  his  honours  1  he  who  ever  crowned 

^Vith  glory  sits  ;  it  must  not,  cannot  be. 

What  if  I  rush  amid  the  Trojan  host, 

And  with  my  single  arm  oppose  them  all, 

Do  something  noble,  and  as  nobly  perish ! 

But  that  would  please  th'  Atridje,  therefore  never 

Shall  it  be  done  :  no,  1  will  do  a  deed 

To  show  my  father  that  I  still  deserve 

The  name  of  son,  and  emulate  my  sire : 

When  life  but  teems  with  unremitted  woes, 

'Tis  poor  in  man  to  wish  a  longer  date  : 

For  what  can  day  on  day,  and  year  on  year, 

But  put  off  wished-for  death,  and  lengthen  pain  ? 

Of  little  worth  is  he  who  still  depends 

On  fruitless  hope  ;  for  it  becomes  the  brave 

To  live  with  honour,  or  to  die  with  glory. 

Ye  have  my  thoughts. 

Chor  Thoughts  not  unworthy  of  thee, 

Ajax ;  but  quit,  oh  !  quit,  thy  horrid  purpose. 
And  yield  thee  to  thy  friends. 

Tec.  My  lord,  my  master, 

My  dearest  Ajax,  dreadful  are  the  ills 
W^hich  cruel  fortune  brings  on  human  kind : 
Of  noblest  race  (a  better,  Phrygia  boasts  not) 
Tecmessa  was,  and  from  a  father  sprung 
Happy  and  free,  though  now  a  wretched  slave ; 
For  so  the  gods  and  thy  all-conqu'ring  arm 
Decreed  :  but  since  partaker  of  thy  bed. 


AyAX. 

Thou  knovv'st  I  ever  have  with  tend'rest  care 

Watched  o'er  thee :  therefore,  by  domestic  Jove, 

Here  I  entreat  thee,  by  the  sacred  tie 

That  binds  us,  let  me  not  with  foul  reproach 

And  bitter  scorn  be  taunted  by  thy  foes, 

When  they  surround  me,  as  I  know  they  will : 

For  oh  !  when  thou  shalt  die,  that  very  day 

The  Greeks  with  violence  will  seize  on  me ; 

Tecmessa  then  and  thy  loved  son  shall  eat 

The  bread  of  slavery.     Then  some  haughty  lord, 

Insulting  loud,  shall  cry,  behold  the  wife 

Of  Ajax,  once  the  pride  of  all  our  host, 

How  is  she  fall'n  !  from  envied  happiness 

To  servitude  and  woe !     Such  vile  upbraidings 

Oft  shall  I  hear,  on  thee  and  on  thy  race 

Casting  foul  shame.     Oh,  then  relent,  my  Ajax  1 

Think  on  thy  father  in  the  vale  of  years, 

Think  on  thy  aged  mother,  who  with  vows 

Incessant  prays  the  gods  to  send  thee  back 

Safe  to  thy  native  land  !     Pity  thy  son, 

Without  a  father  in  his  tender  youth 

To  form  his  mind,  left  to  the  unfriendly  hands 

Of  those  who  love  him  not.  Alas  !  what  woes 

Wilt  thou  bequeath  to  me  and  to  tliy  child ! 

I  have  no  hope,  no  stay  but  thee  alone. 

Thy  hand  destroyed  my  country  and  my  mother ; 

Death  snatched  my  father  to  the  realms  below. 

Deprived  of  thee  what  country  will  receive  me, 

Or  where  shall  I  subsist  ?     Thou  art  my  all, 

My  only  safeguard  :  do  not,  do  not  leave  me  ! 

Nought  so  becomes  a  man  as  gratitude 

For  good  received,  and  noble  deeds  are  still 

The  offspring  of  benevolence,  whilst  he 

With  whom  remembrance  dies  of  blessings  past 

Is  vile  and  worthless. 

Chor.  Oh  !  that  thou  couldst  feel 

Pity  like  mine  for  tliis  unhappy  woman  ! 
Then   wouldst   thou   say   her   words   deserve   thy 
praise. 

Ajax.  And  praised  she  shall  be,  if  she  but  perforin 
What  I  require. 


AJAX. 


In  all  will  I  obey  thee, 


I  would  see  my  child : 
I  hid  him  from  thy  sight 


Tec. 
My  dearest  Ajax 

Ajax. 
Let  him  be  brought. 

Tec. 
Because  of 

Ajax.  My  distemper,  was  it  not  ? 

Tec.   It  was :  I  feared  indeed  thou  mightst  destroy 
him. 

Ajax.  And  well  thou  mightst :  a  deed  like  that 
became 
My  sad  condition. 

Tec.  Therefore,  to  prevent  it 

I  kept  him  from  thee. 

Ajax.  I  approve  thy  caution. 

Tec.  What  wouldst  thou  have  me  do  ? 

Ajax.  Let  me  behold 

And  speak  to  him. 

Tec.  He  is  not  far  from  hence ; 

The  servants  have  him  in  theii'  care. 

Ajax.  Then  why 

May  I  not  see  him  ? 

Tec.  Boy  !  thy  father  calls  thee  : 

Let  some  one  bring  him  hither. 

Ajax.  Is  he  coming  ? 

Doth  he  not  hoar  thee? 

Tec.  They  have  brought  him  to  thee. 

l^Enter  Servants  with  Eurysaces. 


Scene  III. 

Eurysaces,  Tecmessa,  Ajax,  Chorus. 

Ajax.  Bring  him  this  way  :  for  if  he  be  the  son 
Of  Ajax,  the  fresh  blood  that  hangs  about  me 
Will  not  aflright  him ;  he  must  learn  like  me 
In  earliest  years  the  savage  laws  of  war, 
And  be  inured  to  scenes  of  death  and  slaughter. 
Mayst  thou,  my  boy,  be  happier  than  thy  fatlier ! 
In  all  things  elt^e  it  will  be  no  disgrace 


AyAX. 

To  copy  me :  I  envy  thee,  my  child, 

For  that  thou  seest  not  thy  own  wretchedness ; 

The  happiness  of  Kfe  is  not  to  know. 

Thy  ignorance  will  keep  thee  free  from  pain, 

Till  time  shall  teach  thee  what  it  is  to  grieye 

And  to  rejoice  ;  then  must  thou  show  thy  foes 

From  whom  thou  art  descended.     May  the  breath 

Of  life  meantime  nourish  thy  tender  frame, 

That  thou  mayst  prove  a  comfort  to  thy  mother ! 

I  know  there's  not  a  Grecian  that  will  dare 

Insult  thee  when  thy  father  is  no  more ; 

For  I  shall  leave  thee  to  the  best  of  guardians. 

The  faithful  Teucer,  who  far  from  thee  now, 

Sent  forth  by  Greece,  repels  the  invading  foe. 

Of  you,  my  friends,  companions  of  the  war, 

The  only  boon  I  ask  is,  that  ye  urge 

This  last  request  to  Teucer  :  say,  I  begged 

That  straight  to  Telamon  and  Eribcea, 

My  aged  parents,  he  would  bear  my  child, 

To  be  the  joy  of  their  declining  years, 

Till  death  shall  call  them  to  the  shades  below. 

Let  not  my  arms  by  Greece,  or  by  that  plague 

Ulysses,  e'er  be  made  the  prize  of  glory 

For  rival  chiefs ;  but  do  thou  take,  my  boy, 

\tiLrning  to  EuRYSACES 
The  sevenfold,  vast  impenetrable  shield 
Whose  name  thou  bear'st ;  the  rest  be  buried  with  me. 
Take  hence  the  child  with  speed ;  nor  in  the  tents 
Let  there  be  wailings.     Women  ever  love 
To  brood  o'er  sorrows,  and  indulge  their  woe. 
Shut  to  the  door.     The  wound  that  must  be  cut 
No  wise  physician  will  attempt  to  heal 
With  incantation,  elegy,  or  song. 

Chor.  I  tremble  when  I  hear  thee  threat'ning  thus 
With  sharp  and  piercing  voice. 

Tec.  Alas  !  my  lord. 

What  wilt  thou  do  ? 

Ajax.  Guess  not ;  inquire  not  of  me  ; 

Be  silent,  and  be  wise ;  it  will  become  thee. 

Tec.  How  am  I  tortured  !     By  the  gods  I  beg  thee. 
By  our  dear  child,  do  not  destroy  us  both. 


26  AyAX. 

Ajax.  Thou  dost  perplex  nie  ;  why  revere  the  gods  ? 
I  am  not  bound  to  't,  for  I  owe  them  nothing. 

Tec.  Be  not  so  impious. 

Ajax.  Talk  to  those  will  hear  thee, 

Tec.  Art  thou  resolved  then  ? 

Ajax.  'Tis  too  much ;  thy  grief 

Grows  troublesome. 

Tec.  Alas  !  njy  lord,  I  fear 

Ajax  [to  the  Chorus].  Will  ye  not  take  her  hence? 

Tec.  Oh  !  by  the  gods 

1  beg  tliee,  he  persuaded. 

Ajax.  Thou  art  mad 

To  think  thy  words  will  ever  change  my  purpose. 

[Exfijf.nt. 

ODE. 
Chorus. 

Strophe. 

Oh,  happiest,  best  abode,  my  native  isle, 
Fair  Salamis,  encompassed  by  the  sea, 

On  thee  whilst  gods  and  men  indulgent  smile, 
My  country,  oh  behold  and  pity  me ! 
A  long,  long  time  on  Ida's  plain 
Thus  doomed  inglorious  to  remain, 

While  circling  years  roll  o'er  my  wretched  head  ; 
New  terrors  still  aifright  me  here, 
Still  is  my  heart  appalled  with  fear. 

Lest  I  should  visit  soon  the  mansions  of  the  dead. 

A^itistroplie. 

The  woes  of  Ajax,  too,  embitter  mine. 

The  bravest  leader  of  the  Grecian  host, 
Untimely  visited  by  wrath  divine. 

And  in  the  desp'rate  cruel  frenzy  lost. 

There  was  a  time  when  sent  by  thee 

He  gained  the  wreath  of  victory. 
Though  now  his  weeping  friends  lament  his  fall : 

The  ungrateful  chiefs  revere  no  more 

The  virtues  they  admired  before  ; 
His  gallant  deeds  are  now  forgotten  all. 


Stro2?he  2. 

Weighed  down  with  years,  when  thou  in  hoary  age, 
Unhappy  mother,  shalt  these  tidings  hear 

Of  thy  dear  Ajax,  and  his  cruel  rage, 

How  wilt  thou  weep  and  wail  with  grief  sincere  ! 
Not  like  the  plaintive  nightingale 
That  warbles  sweet  her  tender  tale, 

But  with  loud  shrieks  of  horrible  despair : 
With  sharpest  anguish  sore  opprest, 
Then  shalt  thou  beat  thy  aged  breast, 

And  in  deep  sorrow  rend  thy  wild  dishevelled  hair. 

Antistrophe  2. 

'Tis  better  far  to  die  than,  hopeless  still 

Of  cure,  to  languish  under  sore  disease ; 
When  mortals  suffer  such  distinguished  ill 
The  silent  tomb  is  liberty  and  ease. 

Ajax,  the  pride  of  all  our  host. 

His  ancient  fame  and  glory  lost, 
Sinks  down  at  last  o'erwhelmed  with  foul  disgiace* 

How  will  hapless  father  bear 

His  son's  distressful  fate  to  hear, 
E'en  such  as  never  fell  on  ^acus  his  race  ! 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I. 

Ajax,  Tecmessa,  Chorus. 


Ajax.  Still  are  the  secret  things  of  man  revealed. 
And  what  is  known  again  in  darkness  hid 
By  endless  and  immeasurable  time ; 
And  nothing  is  there  but  in  length  of  days 
May  come  to  pass ;  e'en  sacred  oaths  are  broken, 
And  the  fixed  mind,  perverse  and  obstinate. 
Subdued  by  time :  I,  who  like  hardened  steel 


2>^  AJAX. 

Wjis  late  inflexible,  am  softened  now 

To  pity  and  remorse  by  this  dear  woman ; 

I  cannot  bear  to  leave  her  here  a  widow 

Amidst  her  foes,  or  to  forsake  my  child, 

A  helpless  orphan.    No  ;  I  will  retire 

Along  the  shore,  and  seek  the  running  stream, 

Avert  the  wimth  of  angry  heaven,  and  wash 

My  crimes  away  :  there  haply  shall  I  find 

Some  unfrequented  spot  where  I  may  hide 

This  fatal  weapon,  this  destructive  sword : 

Oh  !  I  will  bury  it  deep  in  earth,  that  none 

May  see  it  more,  but  night  and  Erebus 

Preserve  it  still  from  ev'ry  mortal  eye. 

E'er  since  that  hapless  day,  when  from  the  hand 

Of  Hector  1  received  this  dreadful  boon. 

Nought  have  I  had  from  Greece  but  pain  and  woe 

True  is  the  adage,  "  From  the  hands  of  foes 

Gifts  are  not  gifts,  but  injurres  most  fatal." 

Hereafter  will  1  yield  nie^ttrth^Gods 

And  the  Atridiu  ;  since  they  are  my  masters, 

'Tis  meet  that  1  obey  them  :  all  that's  strong 

And  mighty  must  submit  to  poweis  superior : 

Doth  not  the  snowy  winter  to  the  bloom 

Of  fruitful  summer  yield  ?  and  night  obscure, 

When  by  white  steeds  Aurora  drawn  lights  up 

The  rising  day,  submissively  retire  ? 

The  roaring  sea,  long  vexed  by  angry  winds, 

Is  lulled  by  milder  zephyrs  to  repose, 

And  oft  the  fetters  of  all-conq'ring  sleep 

Are  kindly  loosed  to  free  the  captive  mind. 

From  Nature  then,  who  thus  instructs  mankind. 

Why  should  not  Ajax  learn  humility  ? 

Long  since  I  knew  to  treat  my  foe  like  one 

Whom  I  hereafter  as  a  friend  might  love 

If  he  deserved  it,  and  to  love  my  friend 

As  if  he  still  might  one  day  be  my  foe : 

For  little  is  the  trust  we  can  repose 

In  human  friendships.    But  to  my  intent : 

Go  thou,  Tecmessa,  and  beseech  the  gods 

To  grant  what  I  request :  do  you  perform 

The  same  kind  ofiice  ;  and  when  Teucer  comes, 


AyAX.  29 

Tell  him,  the  care  of  me  and  all  my  friends 

I  leave  to  him  :  whither  I  must,  I  must. 

Obey  my  orders  :  wretched  as  I  am 

Soon  shall  ye  see  me  freed  from  all  my  woes.       [£J'xei'ML 


Scene  II. 
Chorus. 

St7'ophe. 

Now  let  sounds  of  mirth  and  joy 
Every  blissful  hour  employ : 
Borne  on  pleasure's  airy  wing, 
lo  Pan  !  to  thee  we  sing  : 
Thee,  whom  on  the  rocky  shore 
Wreck- 'scaped  mariners  adore, 
Skilled  the  mazy  dance  to  lead. 
Teach,  oh  teach,  our  feet  to  tread 
The  round  which  Cretan  Cnossus  knows, 
At  Nyssa  which  spontaneous  rose  ; 
Pan,  oh  !  guide  this  tuneful  throng, 
Whjle  to  thee  we  raise  the  song, 
From  Cyllene's  snowy  brow ; 
King  of  pleasures,  hear  us  now  ! 
"From  thy  mountains,  oh,  appear  ! 
Joy  and  happiness  are  here  : 
And  do  thou,  0  Delian  king  ! 
Now  thy  aid  propitious  bring ! 
Oh  !  from  the  Icarian  sea 
Come,  Apollo,  smile  on  me. 

Antist7'ophe. 

All  our  sorrows  now  are  o'er. 
Grief  and  madness  are  no  more  : 
See,  the  happy  day  appears, 
Mighty  Jove  !  that  ends  our  fears ; 
Let  us,  free  from  every  care, 
Gladly  to  our  ships  repair  : 
Ajax  now  in  sweet  repose 
Sinks,  forgetful  of  his  woes  ; 


30  AyAX. 

Humbly  to  the  gods  resigned, 
He  devotes  his  better  mind  : 
Time  that  witliers  can  restore 
Human  plejisures.     Now  no  more 
Must  we  say  our  vows  are  vain  ; 
Nought  unlioped  for  should  remain, 
Since,  beyond  our  wishes,  see 
Ajax  from  his  madness  free  ; 
'Gainst  th'  Atridae  all  his  rage 
See  how  milder  thoughts  assuage. 
Bitter  strife  and  quarrels  cease  ; 
All  is  harmony  and  peace. 


Scene  III. 


Messenger,  Chorus. 


Mes.  My  friends,  I  bear  you  news  of  highest  import 
From  Mysia's  rocky  mountains  hither  comes 
The  noble  Teucer ;  know,  e'en  now  I  saw  him 
Amid  the  Grecian  host,  who,  as  he  came, 
Surrounded,  and  on  ev'ry  side  poured  forth 
Reproaches  on  him.    Not  a  man  but  cried 
''  Behold  the  brother  of  that  frantic  foe 
To  Greece  and  to  her  council."     Such  their  rage 
That  they  had  well-nigh  stoned  liim ;  swords  were 

drawn, 
And  dire  had  been  the  conflict,  but  that  some 
Among  the  aged  chiefs  by  calm  advice 
Appeased  the  strife.     But  where  is  Ajax  gone  1 
That  I  may  tell  him  :  from  oui-  mastei-s  nought 
Should  be  concealed. 

Chor.  He  is  not  now  within. 

But  just  steps  forth,  as  if  on  some  new  act 
Intent,  well  suited  to  his  better  mind. 

Mes,  Alas  !  too  late  did  Teucer  send  me  here, 
Or  I  am  come  too  slowly. 

Chor.  Why  regret 

His  absence  thus  ? 


Mes.  'Twas  Teucer's  strict  command 

He  should  be  kept  within  the  tent,  nor  stir 
Till  he  arrived. 

Chor.  But,  to  his  sense  restored, 

He  went  to  deprecate  the  wrath  divine, 
And  expiate  his  oftence. 

Mes.  Thy  words  are  vain 

If  Chalcas  prophesy  aright. 

Chor.  What  then 

Did  Chalcas  say  ?     Dost  thou  know  aught  of  this  1 

Mes.  Thus  far  I  know,  for  I  was  witness  of  it : 
Chalcas,  retiring  from  the  assembled  chiefs 
Apart  from  the  Atridte,  gently  pressed 
The  hand  of  Teucer,  and  in  tenderest  friendship 
Besought  him  that  by  every  human  art 
And  means  to  be  devised  he  would  prevent 
Ajax  his  wandering  forth  this  fatal  day, 
If  he  did  ever  wish  to  see  him  more. 
This  day  alone,  he  said,  Minerva's  wrath 
Would  last  against  him.     Oft  the  mighty  fall 
In  deep  affliction,  smit  by  angry  heaven. 
When,  mortal-born,  to  human  laws  they  yield  nor 
As  mortals  ought,  submissively  :  thus  spake 
The  prophet,  and  long  since  was  Ajax  deemed 
To  have  a  mind  disturbed.     When  first  he  left 
His  native  soil,  "  Be  conqueror,  O  my  child  !  " 
His  father  said,  "  but  conquer  under  God." 
Impious  and  proud  his  answer  was  :  "  The  worst 
Of  men,"  he  cried,  "  assisted  by  the  gods 
May  conquer ;  I  shall  do  the  work  without  them." 
Such  were  his  boastings ;  and  when  Pallas  once 
With  kind  assistance  urged  him  to  the  fight, 
Dreadful  and  horrible  was  his  reply : 
*'  Go,  queen,  to  other  Grecians  lend  thy  aid, 
'Tis  needless  here  ;  for  know,  where  Ajax  is 
The  foe  will  never  come."     By  words  like  these, 
And  pride  ill-suited  to  a  mortal's  pow'r. 
Did  he  offend  the  vengeful  deity ; 
But  if  he  lives,  we  may  preserve  him  still, 
The  gods  assisting.    So  the  prophet  spake ; 
And  Teucer  bade  me  say,  you  all  should  try 


To  keep  him  liere  ;  but  if  that  cannot  he, 
And  Chalcas  judge  aright,  he  is  no  more. 

CiiOR.  [to  Tecmessa  ivithm].  What  ho  !  Tecmessa, 
most  unhappy  woman  ! 
Come  forth  and  hear  the  tidings  that  he  brings ; 
They  wound  us  deep,  and  all  our  joys  are  gone. 


Scene  IV. 


Tecmessa,  Messenger,  Chorus. 


But  why  forbade  him  ] 


Tec.  Scarce  do  I  bi-eathe  from  still  repeated  woes, 
And  now  again  thou  call'st  me  :  wherefore  1     Speak. 

Chor.  This  messenger  hath  brought  us  dreadful  news 
Concerning  Ajax  :  hear  him. 

Tec.  Oh  !  what  is  it  ? 

Am  I  undone  ? 

Mes.  I  know  not  what  thou  art ; 

But  if  thy  Ajax  be  gone  forth,  my  fears 
Arfi  great  for  him. 

Tec.  Alas  !  he  is ;  but  why  ? 

How  thou  afflict'st  me  ! 

Mes.  Teucer  hath  forbade 

His  wandering  thus  alone. 

Tec. 
And  where  is  Teucer  ? 

Mes.  He  will  soon  be  here : 

He  fears  this  fatal  day. 

Tec.  Undone  Tecmessa ! 

Whence  are  his  fears  ?  who  told  him  'twould  be  fatal  ? 

Mes.  Thestorian  Chalcas  did  foretell  this  day 
To  life  or  death  would  fix  the  fate  of  Ajax. 

Tec.  [to  the  Chorus].  Assist  me,  friends,  in  this 
distressful  hour. 
To  Teucer  haste,  and  bring  him  to  my  aid ; 
Some  to  yon  western  mountain  bend  your  way, 
And  some  to  th'  east ;  find  out  which  path  he  went, 
Unhappy  wanderer  !     Oh  '  he  has  deceived  me, 
His  former  love  forgotten  all  and  gone  ! 
What  must  we  do,  my  child  ?     I  must  not  sit 


Inactive  here  ;  no,  wheresoe'er  I  can 
I'll  go  to  search  him.    Let  us  haste,  my  friends. 
Quick  !  fly  this  instant,  if  we  mean  to  save 
The  wretched  Ajax,  rushing  on  destruction. 

CiiOR.  Behold  us  ready,  not  in  v/ord  alone,    i 
But  bent  with  speed  to  follow  thee.     Away  !    /   [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. 

Ajax.  There  stands  my  sword,  and  fixed  as  it  may 
best 
Perform  its  office ;  'twas  the  gift  of  Hector, 
My  worst  of  foes,  whom  I  detested  ever : 
The  steel-devouring  stone  hath  sharpened  well 
Its  keenest  edge.     Buried  in  Trojan  earth 
It  lies,  and  now  in  kindness  seems  prepared 
To  end  my  wretched  life.      Thus  far  is  well. 
And  now,  0  Jove  ! — for  first  to  thee  'tis  fit 
We  pay  due  honours — I  address  my  prayer. 
I  ask  not  much  :  I  ask  thee  but  to  send 
Some  passing  stranger  here  to  bear  the  news 
Of  my  unhappy  fate  to  Teuoer's  ear, 
That  he  may  first  behold,  and  take  me  hence, 
Lest,  by  my  foes  discovered,  I  be  cast 
A  prey  to  dogs  and  birds.     Forbid  it,  Jove  ! 
Thee  too,  great  leader  of  departed  souls, 
Terrestrial  Hermes,  thee  I  call!  oh,  hear  me! 
With  easy  steps,  and  swift,  conduct  me  safe 
To  my  abode,  soon  as  this  fatal  sword 
Shall  reach  my  breast.     And  you,  ye  virgin  powers 
From  whom  whate'er  befalls  of  human  ill 
Cannot  be  hid,  ye  goddesses  revered, 
Swift  to  pursue  the  guilty,  oh,  behold, 
The  wretched  Ajax  by  th'  Atridse  fall ! 
"D  seize  the  murd'rers  !     By  my  own  sad  hand 
As  I  shall  perish,  let  my  foes  be  slain 


By  those  wliom  most  they  love  !     Quick,  fly,  begone, 

Ye  vengeful  furies  !     Gorge  yourselves  in  blood, 

Nor  spiire  a  man  of  all  the  Grecian  host. 

And  thou,  0  Sun  !  who  diiv'st  the  flaming  car 

Along  the  vaulted  sky,  when  thou  shalt  see 

My  native  soil,  oh  !  stop  thy  golden  reins ; 

Tell  the  sad  story  to  my  hapless  sire 

And  my  afllicted  mother.     AVhen  she  hears 

The  mournful  tale,  her  grief  will  fill  the  land 

With  dreadful  lamentations.     But  'tis  vain 

To  weep  my  fate  :  the  business  must  be  done. 

O  Death  !  look  on  me.  Death  ;  I  come  to  thee  — 

Soon  shall  we  meet ;  but  thee,  0  glorious  day  ! 

And  yon  bright  charioteer  the  sun,  no  more 

Shall  I  behold  :  e'en  now  thou  hearst  my  last, 

My  dying  words.     O  light  !     0  sacred  soil 

Of  Salamis,  my  country,  and  her  gods  ! 

O  noble  Atliens  !     O  my  loved  companions  ! 

Ye  rivers,  fountains,  and  fair  fields  of  Troy ! 

^  And  yon,  my  honoured  parents,  oh,  farewell ! 

/  'Tis  the  last  word  Ajax  shall  speak  on  earth  : 

\  The  rest  be  uttered  to  the  shades  below. 

[Ajax _/«//.?  on  his  sivord  ami  dies. 

Scene  II. 
Chorus. 

Semiciior.  I .  Labour  on  labour,  toil  go  toil !  Oh,  whither 
Have  we  not  wandered  1     Yet  no  place  informs  us 
Where  Ajax  is.     But  soft,  I  hear  a  voice. 

Semichor.  2.  'Twas  ours,  your  friends. 

Semichor.   I.  What  news  ? 

Semichor.  2.  We've  searched  along 

The  western  shore. 

Semichor.  i.  And  is  he  found  ? 

Semichor.  2.  Alas ! 

We  met  with  nought  but  toil ;  no  siglit  of  him. 

Semichor.   i.  We  from  the  east  return  with  like  suc- 
cess ; 
For  none  have  seen  or  heard  of  him  that  way. 


Semichor.  2.  Wlio  will  inform  us  ?  who  will  say- 
Where  cruel  Ajax  bent  his  way  1 
Will  not  the  watchful  hind,  who,  void  of  sleep, 

Hangs  laborious  o'er  the  deep  1 
From  high  Olympus  will  no  pitying  god, 

Will  no  kind  Naiad  of  the  flood. 
If  chance  they  see  the  cruel  Ajax  stray^ 

Tell  us  where  he  bent  his  way  1 
For  oh !  'tis  dreadful,  wearied  thus,  to  rove, 

Whilst  all  our  pains  successless  prove 
To  reach  the  destined  goal,  or  And  the  man  we  love. 
Tec.  [from  ivithin].  Alas  !  alas  ! 

Semichor.   i  .         Hark !  from  the  neighbouring  grove 
1  heard  a  voice. 

Semichor.  2.         It  is  the  wretched  captive, 
The  wife  of  Ajax,  the  poor  sad  Tecmessa. 


Scene  III. 

Tecmessa,  Chorus. 

Tec.  Oh  !  I  am  lost,  my  friends,  undone,  destroyed  ! 
Chor.  Ha  !  what  hath  happened  1 
Tec.  Ajax  lies  before  me, 

Slain  by  the  sword  which  he  had  buried  here. 

Chor.  Fatal  sure  was  our  return. 

Thy  untimely  death  to  mourn. 
Me,  and  all  thy  faithful  train. 
Cruel  Ajax,  hast  thou  slain. 
Sad  event,  alas  !  to  me  ! 
Sadder,  woman,  still  to  thee. 

Tec.  Oh  !  I  have  reason  now  to  weep  indeed. 
Chor.  What  hand  performed  the  horrid  deed  ? 
Tec.  His  own 

Doubtless  it  was ;  the  sword  he  fell  upon. 
Here,  fixed  in  earth,  declares  it  must  be  so. 
Chor.   \approachm(j  toivards  the  body]. 

Alone,  without  one  pitying  friend, 
Cam'st  thou  to  this  dreadful  end  ; 


as  1  not  myself  to  blame, 
Who  neglectful  never  came  ? 
13 ring  him,  Tecmessa,  to  my  eyes, 
Tell  me  where  thy  Ajax  lies. 

Tec.  He  is  not  to  be  seen.     This  folded  garment 
Shall  hide  the  horrid  sight — a  sight  no  friend 
"Would  wish  to  see  :  whilst  from  his  nostrils  streams 
The  black  blood,  more  still  issuing  from  the  wound 
Made  by  his  own  destructive  hand.     0  me  ! 
What  must  I  do  1     What  friend  will  raise  him  up  1 
Oh  !  where  is  Teucer  ?     He  should  have  been  here 
To  pay  his  last  sad  duty  to  a  brother. 

0  wretched  Ajax  !     But  to  think,  alas  ! 

What  once  thou  hast  been,  and  what  now  thou  art. 
Thy  very  foes  must  sure  lament  thy  fate. 

Chor.  Ajax,  long  since  in  thy  obdurate  mind, 

Thy  sad  purpose  was  designed  ; 
Long  since  wert  thou  resolved  to  seek  repose 

From  thy  never-ceasing  woes  : 
This  from  the  daily  sigh,  the  nightly  tear, 

This  from  thy  sorrows  did  I  fear ; 
This  from  thy  hate  which  nought  could  e'er  assuage  ; 

And  'gainst  th'  Atridse  all  thy  rage  : 
For  never  did  thy  soul  contentment  know, 

But  still  with  fiercest  indignation  glow. 
Since  gi'eat  Achilles'  arms  were  given  to  thy  foo. 

Tec.  O  me  ! 

Chor.  Alas  !  I  know  the  wound  must  pierce 

Thy  inmost  soul. 

Tec.  Unhappy,  lost  Tecmessa  ! 

Chor.  Oh  !  I  believe  thou  art  indeed  unhappy, 
Bereaved  of  such  a  friend. 

Tec.  Thou  but  believ'st  it ; 

1  am  too  certain,  for  I  feel  it  here. 

Chor.  1  know  thou  dost. 

Teo.  What  servitude,  my  child, 

Must  we  endure  ?     Who  will  protect  us  now  ? 

Chor.  Doubtless  thy  fear  of  future  pain 
Fi'om  the  Atridte  all  are  vain, 


37 


For  never  can  they  mean  such  ills  to  thee  ; 
Unfeeling  they  of  human  woe, 
Nor  love  nor  piety  could  know ; 

May  heaven  avert  the  sad  calamity ! 

Tec.  The  gods  ordained  it,  and  it  must  be  so. 
Chor.  But  he  hath  suffered  more  than  he  deserved. 
Tec.  Jove's  dreadful  daughter  Pallas  so  decreed 
His  fate,  to  gratify  her  loved  Ulysses. 

Chor.  Ulysses,  ever  pleased  to  see 

His  madness,  now  will  smile  at  thee, 

Will  laugh  at  Ajax's  woes  nor  pity  thine  : 
By  him  the  curst  Atrid?e  led 
Perhaps  will  triumph  o'er  the  dead, 

And  in  the  cruel  mirth  with  pleasure  join. 

Tec.  Let  them  rejoice,  let  them  insult  him  now 
With  savage  joy ;  but  when  the  dreadful  day 
Of  battle  comes,  whom  living  they  despised 
When  dead  they  shall  lament.     Fools  never ^now^ 
The  treasure's  value  till  tjie  k-easure  's  lost^        '"^ 
Buf^far  moi'e  bitter  was  lug''(Ieath  to  me 
Than  sweet  to  them  :  to  Ajax  it  was  most  welcome ; 
Death  was  his  only  wish,  and  he  obtained  it. 
Then  wherefore  should  they  triumph  ?     By  the  hand 
Of  Heaven,  and  not  by  theirs,  my  Ajax  fell. 
Then  let  Ulysses  smile  :  he  is  not  theirs. 
He  lives  not  for  the  Grecians  :  he  is  gone, 
And  has  bequeathed  his  sorrows  all  to  me. 


Scene   IV. 
Teucer,  Tecmessa,   Chorus. 

Teu.  Alas  !  alas ! 

Chor.  Hark  !  'tis  the  voice  of  Teucer 

In  mournful  sighs  lamenting  our  sad  fate. 

Teu.  0  Ajax  !  is  it  so  %     My  dearest  brother, 
Dear  as  these  eyes  to  me,  hath  fame  said  true, 
And  art  thou  iforie] 


,y 


AJAX, 


Ohor.  0  Teiicer  !  he  is  dead. 

Teu.  Unhappy  fate  I 

Chor  'Tis  so  indeed. 

Teu.  Alas ! 

Wretch  tlmt  I  am  ! 

CuoK.  Oh  !  thou  hast  cause  to  weep. 

Teu.  Dreadful  calamity ! 

Chor.  It  is  indeed 

Too  much  to  bear. 

Teu.  0  wretched,  wretched  Teucer  ! 

Where  is  the  child  1     Is  he  at  Troy  ] 

Chor.  Alone, 

And  in  the  tent. 

Teu.  Will  ye  not  bring  him  to  me  H^"^ 

Lest  he  shall  fall  a  victim  to  the  foe, 
Even  as  the  hunters  seize  the  lion's  whelp 
Left  to  its  helpless  dam  %     Quick !  fly  !  assist  me  ; 
For  all  are  glad  to  triumph  o'er  the  dead. 

Chor.  To  thee,  0  Teucer !  he  bequeathed  the  care 
Of  his  loved  child,  and  thou  obeyst  him  well. 

Teu.  0  Ajax  !  never  did  these  eyes  behold 
A  sight  so  dreadful.     Came  I  then  for  this 
With  luckless  speed  ?     O  melancholy  journey  ! 
To  seek  thee  long  in  vain,  and  thus  at  last 
To  find  thee  dead  before  me,  0  my  brother ! 
Quick  through  the  Grecian  host,  as  if  some  god 
Had  brought  the  tidings,  spi-ead  the  dire  report 
Of  thy  untimely  fate.     Far  from  thee  then 
1  heard  and  wept,  but  now,  alas !  I  see 
And  am  undone.     My  best,  my  dearest  Ajax  ! 
Unveil  the  body ;  let  me  view  it  well. 
And  count  my  miseries.     Horrid  spectacle ! 
Oh  !  rash  advent' rous  deed  !     What  weight  of  woe 
Thy  death  has  laid  on  me  !     Alas !  to  whom 
Or  whither  shall  I  go  ?     Oh,  wherefore,  Teucer, 
Wert  thou  not  here  to  stop  a  brother's  hand  ? 
What  will  our  poor  unhappy  father  say, 
The  wretched  Telamon  ?     Will  he  receive  me 
With  looks  of  love  and  pleasure,  when  1  come 
Without  his  Ajax  %     Oh  I  he  never  will. 
Even  in  the  best  of  times  he  was  not  wont 


To  smile  or  joy  in  aught.     What  then  will  now 
His  anger  vent  ?     Will  he  not  speak  of  me 
As  of  a  faithless,  base,  unworthy  son, 
The  spurious  offspring  of  a  captive  mother, 
Who  hath  betrayed  and  slain  his  best-loved  Ajax 
To  gain  his  fair  possessions  after  death  ? 
Thus  will  his  wrath,  sharpened  by  peevish  a^e, 
Upbraid  me  guiltless ;  and  to  slavery  doomed, 
A  wretched  exile  from  his  native  land, 
Shall  Teucer  wander  forth.     Such  dreadful  ills 
Must  I  expect  at  home.     At  Troy  my  foes 
Are  numerous,  and  my  friends,  alas  !  how  few  ! 
Thou  art  the  cause  of  all :  for,  O  my  Ajax  ! 
What  shall  I  do  1     How  can  I  save  thee  now 
From  this  sad  fate  1     Oh  !  who  could  have  foreseen 
That  Hector,  long  since  dead,  at  last  should  prove 
The  murderer  of  Ajax  1     By  the  gods 
I  do  beseech  you,  mark  the  fate  of  both : 
The  belt,  which  Ajax  did  to  Hector  give. 
Dragged  the  brave  Trojan  o'er  the  blood}^  field 
Till  he  expired ;  and  now,  behold  !  the  sword, 
Which  Hector  gave  to  Ajax  is  the  cause 
Of  Ajax'  death.     Erynnis'  self  did  forge 
The  fatal  steel,  and  Pluto  made  the  belt. 

Dreadful  artificer !    JBiLt  thiSj_an<Loil  '^'SlSL.       *" 

.Thatjiappens  to  us,  is  the  woi^  of^ Heaven.  ^mmmm^ 

If  there  be  those  who  doubt  it,  let  them  hold  -ilS^^i^S" 

Their  diff'ring  judgments — I  shall  keep  my  own. 

CnoR.  Teucer,  no  more ;  but  rather  now  prepare 
To  bury  Ajax,  and  defend  thyself 
Against  thy  foe,  whom  yonder  I  behold 
This  way  advancing,  with  malignant  smile 
And  looks  of  ill  intent. 

Teu.  Who  can  it  be  ? 

From  the  army,  thinkst  thou  1 

Chor.  'Tis  the  man  whose  cause 

We  came  to  fight,  e'en  Menelaus. 

Teu.  'Tis  so. 

As  he  approaches  nigh,  I  know  him  well. 


40 


Scene  V. 
Menelaus,  Teucer,  Chorus. 


Men.  Stop  there  !    To  thee  I  speak.    Let  go  the  body. 
T  will  not  hnvo  it  touched. 

Teu.  Why  touch  it  not  ? 

Men.  Because  it  is  my  will^  and  his  who  leads 
The  Grecian  host. 

Teu.  But  wherefore  is  it  so  ? 

Men.  Greece   fondly  hoped  that  she  had  brought  a 
friend 
And  firm  ally,  but  by  experience  found 
That  Troy  herself  was  not  so  much  our  foe 
As  Ajax  was,  who  nightly  wandered  forth 
With  deadliest  rage  to  murder  all  our  host, 
And,  but  .some  god  did  frustrate  his  intent, 
The  fate  himself  hath  met  had  been  our  own. 
Then  had  he  triumphed ;  but  the  gods  ordained 
It  should  not  be,  and  'gainst  the  flocks  and  herds 
Turned  all  his  fury ;  wherefore  know,  there  lives  not 
A  man  of  courage  or  of  power  sufficient 
To  bury  Ajax.     On  the  yellow  shore 
He  shall  be  cast,  to  be  the  food  of  birds 
That  wander  there.     Thou  mayst  resent  it  too, 
B^it  'twill  be  vain.     At  least  we  will  command 
When  dead,  whom  living  we  could  ne'er  subdue, 
Nor  ask  thy  leave.     He  never  would  submit, 
But  now  he  must.     Yield  therefore,  or  we  force  thee. 
Tis  the  Plebeian's  duty  to  obey 
The  voice  of  those  who  bear  authority. 
And  he  who  doth  not  is  the  worst  of  men  ; 
For  never  can  the  state  itself  support 
By  wholesome  laws,  where  there  is  no  submission. 
An  army's  best  defence  is  modest  fear 
And  reverence  of  its  leaders  ;  without  these 
It  cannot  conquer.     It  becomes  a  man 
How  great  soe'er  his  strength,  still  to  remember 
A  little,  very  little,  may  destroy  him. 
He  who  is  guarded  by  humility 


AyAX.  41 

And  conscious  shame  alone  in  safety  lies  ; 

But  where  licentious  freedom  and  reproach 

Injurious  reign,  each  as  his  will  directs 

Still  acting,  know  that  city  soon  must  fall 

From  all  its  bliss,  and  sink  in  deepest  woe. 

Eemember,  then,  respect  is  due  to  me. 

Let  us  not  think  when  pleasure  is  enjoyed 

We  must  not  suffer  too  and  taste  of  pain ; 

For  these  to  mortals  still  alternate  rise. 

There  lived  not  one  so  proud  and  arrogant 

As  Ajax  was.     I  will  be  haughty  now; 

It  is  my  turn.     Take  heed,  then.     Touch  him  not, 

Lest,  while  thou  striv'st  to  bury  him,  thyself 

Should  drop  into  the  tomb. 

Chor.  O  Menelaus  ! 

Do  not  with  maxims  grave  and  wisdom's  rules 
Mix  foul  reproach  and  slander  on  the  dead. 

Teu.  It  should  not  move  our  wonder,  0  my  friend  ! 
To  see  the  vulgar  err,  of  meaner  souls 
And  birth  obscure,  when  men  so  nobh'  born 
Will  talk  thus  basely.     Tell  me,  Menelaus — 
For  'twas  thy  first  assertion — didst  thou  bring 
Our  Ajax  here  to  help  the  Grecian  host  ? 
Or  came  he  hither  by  himself  alone 
Conducted?     Whence  is  thy  ccmimand  o'er  him. 
O'er  these  his  followers  ?     Who  gave  thee  power  ? 
Who  gave  thee  rights     Thou  mayst  be  Sparta's  kii)g,  I 
But  art  not  ours.     Ajax  was  bound  by  law 
No  more  to  thee  than  thou  wert  bound  to  Ajax : 
Thyself  no  general,  but  to  others  here 
Subjected ;  therefore,  lord  it  Avhere  thou  mayst — 
Command  thy  slaves ;  go,  threaten  and  chastise  them. 
But  I  will  bury  Ajax,  spite  of  thee 
And  of  thy  brother,  for  I  heed  thee  not. 
He  sailed  not  here  to  quarrel  for  the  wife 
Of  Menelaus,  like  a  hireling  slave, 
But  to  fulfil  the  strictly-binding  oath 
Which  he  had  sworn ;  he  did  not  come  for  thee, 
For  he  despised  so  poor  a  cause ;  he  came 
With  all  his  heralds  and  a  numerous  train, 
And  brought  his  captains  too.     llemember,  therefore, 


A^AX 


Thy  clamours  ne'er  shall  turn  me  from  my  purpose 
Whilst  thou  art  what  thou  art. 

Men.  a  tongue  like  thine 

But  ill  becomes  thy  state :  'tis  most  unseemly. 

Teu.  a  keen  reproach,  with  justice  on  its  side, 
Is  always  grating. 

]\Ien.  This  proud  archer  here 

Talks  loudly. 

Teu.  'Tis  no  mean  illiberal  art. 

;Men.  If  thou  couldst  bear  a  shield,  how  insolent 
And  haughty  wouldst  thou  be,  when  naked,  thus, 
Thou  boast'st  thy  valour! 

Teu.  Naked  as  I  am 

1  should  not  fly  from  thee  with  all  thy  arms. 

Men.  Thy  tongue  but  speaks  thy  pride. 

Teu.  I  should  be  proud 

When  I  am  just. 

Men.  Doth  justice  bid  me  love 

Him  who  destroyed  me  ? 

Teu.  Art  thou  then  destroyed? 

That's  strange  indeed,  living  and  dead  at  once. 

Men.  For  him  I  had  been  so :  the  gods  preserved  me. 

Teu.  Do  not  dishonour  then  the  powers  divine 
That  saved  thee. 

Men.  Do  I  violate  their  laws  ? 

Teu.  If  thou  forbidst  the  burial  of  the  dead 
Thou  dost  ofi'end  the  gods. 

INIen.  He  was  my  foe, 

And  therefore  I  forbid  it. 

Teu.  Art  thou  sure 

That  A  jax  ever  was  thy  foe  1 

Men.  I  am ; 

Our  hate  was  mutual,  and  thou  knowst  the  cause, 

Teu.  Because  thou  wert  corrupted,  thy  false  voice 
Condemned  him. 

Men.  'Twas  the  judges'  fault,  not  mine. 

Teu.  Thus  mayst  thou  screen  a  thousand  injuries. 

Men.  Some  one  may  suffer  for  this  insolence. 

Teu.  Not  more  perhaps  than  others. 

Men.  This  alone 

Itemember,  buried  he  sliall  never  be. 


Teu.  Do  thou  remember  too,  I  say  he  shall. 

Men.  So  have  I  seen  a  bold  imperious  man 
With  froward  tongue,  before  the  storm  began, 
Urging  the  tardy  mariner  to  sail, 
But  when  the  tempest  rose  no  more  was  heard 
The  coward's  voice,  but  wrapt  beneath  his  cloak 
Silent  he  laid,  and  suffered  every  foot 
To  trample  on  him.    Thus  it  is  with  thee, 
And  thy  foul  tongue  :  forth  from  a  little  cloud 
Soon  as  the  storm  shall  burst,  it  will  o'erwhelm  thee, 
And  stop  thy  clamours. 

Teu.  I  too  have  beheld 

A  man  with  folly  swollen  reproach  his  friends 
Oppressed  with  sore  calamity,  when  straight 
One  came  like  me,  with  indignation  fired. 
Saw,  and  addressed  him  thus  :  "  Cease,  shameless  wretch  ! 
Nor  thus  oppress  the  dead ;  for  if  thou  dost, 
Remember,  thou  shalt  suffer  for  thy  crime." 
Thus  spoke  he  to  the  weak  insulting  fool ; 
Methinks  I  see  him  here — it  must  be  he, 
Even  Menelaus.     Have  I  guessed  aright  ? 

Men.  'Tis  well ;  I'll  leave  thee.     'Tis  a  folly  thus 
To  talk  with  those  whom  we  have  power  to  punish. 

{Exit. 

Scene  VI. 
Teucer,  Chorus. 

Teu.  Away  !     This  babbler  is  not  to  be  borne. 

Chor.  The  contest  will  grow  warm.     O  Teucer  !  haste, 
Prepare  some  hollow  fosse  for  the  remains 
Of  Ajax.     Raise  him  there  a  monument, 
By  after-ages  ne'er  to  be  forgotten. 

Teu.  And  lo !  in  happy  hour  this  way  advancing 
The  wife  and  son  of  our  unhappy  friend, 
To  pay  due  honours  and  adorn  his  tomb. 


44 


/IJAX 


Scene  VII. 

'^K^MKSv^A.     KrRYSACES,    TeUCER,    OhORUS. 

Tev.  Come   hither,  boy,  bend   down    and  touch   thy 
father ; 
There  sit,  and,  liolding  in  thy  hands  this  hair 
And  liers  and  thine,  the  suppHant's  humble  treasure, 
Offer  thy  pious  prayers  for  thy  dead  father : 
If  from  yon  hostile  camp  the  foe  should  come 
'J'o  drive  thee  hence,  far  from  his  native  land, 
Whoe'er  he  be,  unburied  may  he  lie. 
From  his  whole  lace  uprooted,  torn  away, 
E'en  as  this  hair  which  here  I  cut  before  thee ; 
Oh  !  guard  it  well,  my  child  ;  and  you  my  friends. 
Behave  like  men — assist,  protect  him  now, 
Till  I  return,  and,  spite  of  all  our  foes, 
Perform  the  rites,  niid  raise  a  tomb  to  Ajax.  [Eocif. 


Scene  VIII. 

Tecjiessa,  Eurysaces,  Chorus. 

Chorus. 
Strophe  I. 

When  will  the  happy  hour  appear, 
That  comes  to  calm  our  every  fear, 
From  endless  toil  to  bring  us  sweet  repose. 
To  bid  our  weary  wanderings  cease. 
To  fold  us  in  the  arms  of  peace. 
And  put  the  wished-for  period  to  our  woes  1 
For  since  the  day  when  first  to  Troy  we  came 
Nought  have  we  known  but  grief,  reproach,  and 
shame. 

AntistropJm  i. 

Oh !  that  the  man,  who  erst  inspired 
With  honud  rage,  our  Grecians  fired 


AJAX. 

To  slaught'rous  deeds,  and  taught  them  first  to  fight, 
Ere  he  had  learned  the  dreadful  trade, 
Himself  had  mingled  with  the  dead, 

Or  scattered  wide  in  air,  or  sunk  in  endless  night ! 

For  oh  !  from  war  unnumbered  e\'ils  flow, 

The  unexhausted  source  of  every  human  woe. 

HtropliG  2. 

By  war  disturbed,  the  genial  board 
No  longer  will  its  sweets  aflbrd ; 
Their  fragrant  odoui's  round  my  head 
The  verdant  wreaths  no  longer  spread ; 
Nor  music's  charms  my  soul  delight, 
Nor  love  with  rapture  crowns  the  night ; 
No  love,  alas  !  for  me,  but  grief  and  care ; 
For  when  I  think  of  Troy  I  still  despair, 
And  wet  with  many  a  tear  my  wild  dishevelled  hair. 

Antistrophe  2. 

Nor  nightly  fear  nor  hostile  dart; 
Whilst  Ajax  lived,  appalled  my  heart, 
But  all  our  pleasures  now  are  o'er, 
The  vahant  Ajax  is  no  more  : 
Oh  !  could  I  climb  the  woody  steep 
That  hangs  incumbent  o'er  the  deep. 
From  Sunium's  cliff  by  waves  for  ever  beat. 
Then  should  my  eye  the  lovely  prospect  greet, 
And  smile  on  sacred  Athens  rising  at  my  feet. 


ACT  V. 

Scene    I. 


Teucer,  Agamemnon,  Chorus. 

Teucer.  This  way  I  bent  my  hasty  steps  to  meet 
The  Grecian  chief,  who  hither  comes  prepared 
To  vent  his  keen  reproaches. 


Aga.  I  am  told  ^ 

That  thou,  e'en  thou,  the  sou  of  a  vile  slave,  * 

Hast  dared  to  utter  foulest  calumny 
Against  thy  prince,  and  passed  unpunished  for  it ; 
Mean  as  thy  birth  is,  what  liad  been  thy  pride 
And  high  demeanour  had  thy  mother  sprung 
From  noble  l)lood  ?     Barbarian  as  thou  art, 
How  couldst  thou  praise  a  wretch,  who,  lilte  thyself, 
Was  nothing  ?     We,  it  seems,  for  thou  hast  sworn  it, 
Are  not  the  masters  or  of  Greece  or  thee ; 
Ajax  alone,  thou  sayst,  was  leader  here. 
Shall  we  be  thus  insulted  by  our  slaves? 
Who  is  this  boaster  ?  and  what  mighty  deed 
Hath  he  performed  which  I  could  not  have  done  ? 
Is  there  no  hero  in  the  Grecian  host 
But  Ajax  1     Vain  indeed  were  our  resolves 
In  the  warm  contest  for  Achilles'  arms, 
If  Teucer  yet  shall  question  the  decree 
Against  the  general  voice — resisting  still, 
And  still  reproachful,  with  delusive  arts. 
Though  conquered,  yet  opposing.     ^V^holesome  laws 
Will  nought  avail  if  those  whom  justice  deems 
Superior,  to  the  vanquished  must  resign. 
And  first  in  virtue  be  the  last  in  fame. 
It  must  not  be.     Not  always  the  huge  size 
Of  weighty  limbs  ensures  the  victory ; 
They  who  excel  in  wisdom  are  alone 
Invincible.     Thou  see'st  the  brawny  ox, 
How  the  small  whip  will  drive  him  through  the  field  : 
What  if  the  med'cine  be  applied  to  thee 
For  thy  proud  boasting  and  licentious  tongue  ? 
'Twill  be  thy  portion  soon,  unless  thou  learnst 
More  wisdom  ;  henceforth,  mindful  what  thou  art. 
Bring  with  thee  one  of  nobler  blood  to  plead 
Thy  cause ;  for  know,  the  language  which  thou  tallest 
Is  barbai'ous,  and  I  understand  thee  not. 

Chor.  I  can  but  wish  that  wisdom  may  attend 
To  guide  you  both. 

Teu.  Alas  !  how  very  soon 

Are  all  the  merits  of  the  dead  forgotten  ! 
0  Ajax  !  is  the  memory  of  thee 


AJAX.  47 

Already  lost,  e'en  by  the  man  for  whom 

Thy  life  so  oft  was  ventured  in  the  field  % 

But  now  'tis  past,  and  buried  in  oblivion. 

Thou  wordy  slanderer !     Canst  thou  not  remember 

When,  biiffled  and  unequal  to  the  foe, 

Close  pent  within  the  walls  our  forces  lay — 

Canst  thou  not  call  to  mind  who  came  alone 

To  your  deliverance,  when  devouring  flames 

Towered  o'er  our  ships,  when  Hector  leaped  the  fosse 

And  rushed  amongst  us?     Then  who  fought  for  Greece? 

Who  drove  him  back,  but  Ajax,  who,  thou  sayst, 

Could  never  fight  ?  Did  he  not  fight  for  you  ] 

He  met  the  noble  Hector  hand  to  hand, 

Unbidden  dared  the  fortune  of  the  field. 

He  scorned  the  coward's  art  to  fix  his  lot 

In  the  moist  earth  :  fortli  from  the  crested  helmet 

It  sprang  the  first.     Such  were  the  deeds  of  Ajax, 

And  I  was  witness  of  them — I,  the  slave. 

For  so  thou  call'st  me,  sprung  from  a  barbarian. 

How  dares  a  wretch  like  thee  to  talk  of  birth  1 

Who  was  thy  grandsire  ?    Canst  thou  not  remember 

That  old  barbarian,  Phrygian  Pelops,  tell  me  % 

Who  was  thy  father — Atreus,  was  he  not  % 

That  worst  of  men,  who  at  a  brother's  table 

Served  up  his  children — horrible  repast ! 

Thy  mother,  too,  a  Cretan  and  a  slave — 

A  vile  adultress,  whom  thy  father  caught 

And  headlong  cast  into  the  sea,      Shalt  thou 

Talk  then  to  me  of  birth — to  me,  the  son 

Of  valiant  Telamon,  renowned  in  war. 

And  wedded  to  a  queen,  the  royal  race 

Of  great  Laomedon,  and  fairest  gift 

Of  famed  Alcides  1    Thus  of  noble  blood 

From  either  parent  sprung,  shall  I  disgrace 

The  man  whom  thou,  inhuman,  wouldst  still  keep 

Unburied  here  1    Dost  thou  not  blush  to  think  on't  ? 

But,  mark  me  well  !    If  thou  dost  cast  him  forth, 

Not  he  alone  inglorious  on  the  plain 

Shall  lie  — together  we  will  perish  all : 

To  die  with  glory  in  a  brother's  cause 

la  better  far  than  fighting  for  the  wife 


48  A-yAx. 

Of  AgJimemnou  or  of  Menolaus  : 

For  thy  own  snke,  aiul  not  for  mine,  remember, 

If  thou  provoke  me,  thou' It  be  sorry  for  it, 

And  wish  thou'dst  rather  feared  than  angered  Teu(;er. 


Scene  II. 
Ulysses,  Agamemnon,  Menelaus,  Teucer,  Chorus. 

CiiOR.  IJlysses,  if  thou  meanst  not  to  inflame, 
But  to  compose  this  dreadful  strife,  thou  com'st 
In  happiest  hour. 

Uly.  Far  ofi"  I  heard  the  voice 

Of  the  Atrida3  o'er  this  wretched  course ; 
Whence  rose  the  clamour,  friends  1 

Men.  With  bitterest  words 

This  Teucer  here,  Ulysses,  has  reviled  me. 

Uly.  What  words  1     For  if  he  heard  the  same  from 
thee, 
I  blame  him  not. 

Aga.  He  did  provoke  me  to  it. 

Uly.  What  injury  hath  he  done  thee  ? 

Aga.  He  declares 

The  body  shall  have  sepulture,  himself 
Perforce  will  bury  Ajax,  spite  of  me 
And  of  my  power. 

Uly.  Shall  I  be  free,  and  speak 

The  truth  to  thee,  without  reproach  or  blame  ? 

Aga.  Thou  mayst ;  for  well  thou  knowst  I  hold 
Ulysses 
Of  all  the  Greeks  my  best  and  dearest  friend. 

Uly.    Then  hear  me.     By  the  gods  I  must  entreat 
thee. 
Do  not,  remorseless  and  inhuman,  east 
The  body  forth  unburied,  nor  permit 
Authority  to  trample  thus  on  justice. 
E'er  since  our  contest  for  Achilles'  arms 
Hath  Ajax  been  my  foe,  and  yet  I  scorn 
To  use  him  basely.    E'en  Ulysses  owns, 
Of  all  the  Grecian  chiefs  who  came  from  Troy 


AJAX.  49 

(Except  Achilles),  Ajax  was  the  bravest. 

Do  not  deny  him,  then,  the  honours  due 

To  worth  so  great ;  for  know,  it  were  a  crime 

Not  against  him  alone,  but  'gainst  the  gods — 

A  violation  of  the  laws  divine. 

To  hurt  the  brave  and  virtuous  after  death. 

Even  though  he  lived  thy  foe,  is  infamous. 

Aga.  Pleadst  thou  for  Ajax  ? 

Uly.  Yes  ;  I  was  his  foe 

Whilst  justice  would  permit  me  ;  but  he's  dead ; 
Therefore  thou  shouldst  not  triumph  nor  rejoice 
With  mirth  unseemly  o'er  a  vanquished  man. 

Aga.  'Tis  not  so  easy  for  a  king  to  act 
By  honour's  strictest  rules. 

Uly.  'Tis  always  so 

To  hearken  to  the  counsels  of  a  friend, 
When  he  advises  well. 

Aga.  But  know,  the  good 

And  virtuous  still  submit  to  those  who  rule. 

Uly.  No  more.     When  thou  art  vanquished  by  thy 
friends, 
Thou  art  thyself  the  conqueror. 

Aga.  Still  remember 

For  whom  thou  pleadst,  Ulysses. 

Uly.  For  a  foe, 

But  for  a  brave  one. 

Aga.  Dost  thou  thus  revere 

E'en  after  death  thine  enemy  ] 

Uly.  I  do: 

Virtue  is  dearer  to  me  than  revenge. 

Aga.  Such  men  are  most  unstable  in  their  ways. 

Uly.  Our  dearest  friend  may  one  day  be  our  foe. 

Aga.  Dost  thou  desire  such  friends? 

Uly.  I  cannot  lo^'e 

Or. praise  th'  unfeeling  heart. 

Aga.  This  day  shall  Greece 

Mark  us  for  cowards. 

Uly.  Greece  will  call  us  just. 

Aga.  Wouldst  thou  persuade  me  then  to  grant  him 
burial  ? 

Uly.  I  would,  and  for  that  purpose  canio  I  hither. 


AtiA.  How  every  man  consults  lii.s  own  advantage, 
And  acts  but  for  himself  ! 

Uly.  And  who  is  he 

Whom  I  should  wish  to  serve  before  Ulysses  1 

Aga.  'Tis  thy  own  work,  remember,  and  not  mine. 

Uly.  The  deed  will  win  thee  praise,  and  evcry^  tongU( 
Shall  call  thee  good. 

Aga.  Thou  knowst  I'd  not  refuse 

Ulysses  more,  much  more  than  this  ;  l^ut  Ajax 
Or  buried  or  unburied  is  the  same, 
And  must  be  hateful  still  to  Agamemnon. 
But  do  as  it  beseems  thee  best. 

Chor.  Ulysses, 

The  man  who  says  thou  art  not  wise  and  good 
Is  senseless  and  unjust. 

Uly.  I  tell  thee,  Teucer, 

Henceforth  I  am  as  much  the  friend  of  Ajax 
As  once  I  was  his  foe  :  e'en  now  I  mean 
To  join  with  thee,  a  fellow-labourer 
In  all  the  pious  offices  of  love, 
Nor  would  omit,  what  every  man  should  pay, 
The  honours  due  to  sucli  exalted  virtue  ! 

Teu.  0  best  of  men  I  thou  hast  my  thanks  and 
praise, 
And  well  deserv'st  them,  for  thou  hast  transcended 
My  utmost  hopes.    1  little  thought  the  worst 
Of  all  his  foes  among  the  Grecian  host 
Would  thus  alone  defend,  alone  protect 
The  dead  from  insult,  when  these  thundering  leaders 
United  came  to  cast  his  body  forth 
With  infamy ;  but  may  the  god  who  i-ules 
O'er  high  Olympus,  and  the  vengeful  Furies, 
Daughters  ot  J  ove,  the  guilt-rewarding  sisters, 
With  all-deciding  justice  soon  repay 
The  hauglity  tyrants.     For  thy  ofiered  aid, 
Son  of  Laertes,  in  the  funeral  rites. 
Perhaps  it  might  offend  the  honoured  shade 
Of  our  dead  friend — it  cannot  be  accepted. 
For  all  beside  we  thank  thee.    If  thou  will'st 
To  send  assistance  from  the  Grecian  camp, 
'Twill  bo  received ;  the  rest  shall  be  my  care. 


AJAX. 


5t 


Thou  hast  performed  the  duty  of  a  friend, 
And  we  acknowledge  it. 

Uly.  I  would  have  lent 

My  willing  aid,  but  since  it  must  not  be, 
I  shall  submit.    Farewell !  [Exit  Ui-ysses. 


Scene  JII. 


Agamemnon,  Menelaus,  Teuoer,  Efrysaces,  Chorus. 

Teu.  Thus  far  is  right. 

The  time  already  past  doth  chide  our  sloth  : 
My  friends,  be  vigilant.  Let  some  prepare 
The  hollow  fosse,  some  o'er  the  sacred  flame 
Place  the  rich  tripod  for  the  funeral  bath ; 
Forth  from  the  camp  a  chosen  band  must  bear 
His  glittering  arms  and  trophies  of  the  war. 
Do  thou,  my  child,  if  thou  hast  strength,  uplift 

\To  EURYSACESc 

Thy  father's  body.     See,  the  veins,  yet  warm, 
Spout  forth  with  blood.     Haste  !     Help,  assist  me,  all 
Who  bear  the  name  of  friends,  and  pay  with  me 
Your  last  sad  duties  to  the  noble  Ajax  ; 
For  never  was  on  earth  a  better  man. 

Chor.  Whate'er  of  good  or  ill  weak  mortals  know 
Must  from  their  best  of  guides,  experience,  fl.ow. 
Seek  then  no  farther ;  for  to  man  is  given 
The  present  state,  the  future  left  to  Heaven. 


E  L  E  C  T  R  A. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


El-ECTRA,  Daughter  of  Agamem- 
non and  Glytemnestra. 

Orestes,  Brother  of  Electra. 

1'VLA.BES,  Frund  of  Orestes. 

Governor  of  Orestes. 

Clytemnestra,  Wife  to  JJ'.gis- 
thus. 


Chrysothemts,  Sister  of  Elec- 
tra. 

^GiSTiius,  King  ofArgos  and 
MycencB. 

Chorus,  composed  of  the  j>rin- 
cipal  Ladies  of  Mycena. 


SCENE.— Mycex^,  before  the  Palace  o/^gisthus. 


ACT   I. 

Scene   I. 


Orestes,  Py lades,  Governor  of  Orestes. 

Governor.  0  son  of  gi^eat  Atrides  !  he  who  led 
Embattled  Greece  to  Troy's  devoted  walls, 
At  length  behold  what  thy  desmng  eyes 
So  long  have  sought.     Behold  thy  native  soil, 
Thy  much-loved  Argos,  and  the  hallowed  grove 
Of  lo,  frantic  maid.     On  this  side  lies 
The  Lycian  forum,  on  the  left  the  fane 
Of  Juno,  far  renowned.     Behold  !  we  come 
To  rich  Mycense,  and  the  slaughterous  house 
Of  Pelops'  hapless  race,  from  whose  sad  walls 
Long  since  I  bore  thee,  at  thy  sister's  hand 


54  ELECTRA. 

Gladly  rocoivod,  niul  with  paternal  oiire 
To  this  blest  clay  have  fostered  up  thy  youth, 
Till  riper  years  should  give  thee  to  return, 
And  pay  with  dire  revenge  thy  father's  murder. 
Now,  my  Orestes,  and  thou  dear  companior 
Of  all  our  suft'erings,  much-loved  Pylades, 
Let  deepest  counsel  sway  our  just  resolves ; 
/For  lo  !  resplendent  Pha-bus  wifh  his  light 
/  Calls  up  t  lie  cheerful  birds  to  early  song, 
VAnd  gloomy  night  hath  lost  her  starry  train  : 
( V)me  then,  my  friends,  and  ere  th'  awakened  city 
Pours  forth  her  busy  throngs,  this  instant  here 
JiOt  us  consult.     Believe  me,  'tis  no  time 
For  dull  delay ;  'tis  the  decisive  hour, 
And  this  the  very  crisis  of  our  fate. 

Orestes.  What  proofs  thou  giv'st  me  of  tlie  noblest 
nature 
And  true  benevolence,  thou  good  old  man  ! 
Of  servants  sure  the  faithfullest  and  best 
That  ever  bore  the  name  :  the  generous  steed, 
Though  worn  with  years,  thus  keeps  his  wonted  courage. 
And  warns  his  master  of  approaching  danger; 
fjike  him  thou  stir'st  me  up  to  noble  deeds. 
And  follow'st  me  undaunted  :  but  attend 
To  what  I  have  resolved,  and  if  I  err, 

^Let  thy  superior  judgment  set  mfiriglit. 
When  to  the  Delphic  oracle  I  flew, 
Eager  to  know  how  on  my  father's  foes 
J  best  might  satiate  my  revenge,  the  god 
Enjoined  me  not  by  force  or  open  arms 
To  rus]i_^iipon  them,  but^witk^uilef  ul  arts  J 
And  silent  well-conducted  fraud  betraythem. 
Such  was  his  wdll.     Thou,  therefore,  soon  as  time 
Shall  lend  thee  opportunity,  unknown 
And  unsuspected  (as  thy  absence  hence 
For  so  long  space  and  hoary  age  shall  make  thee) 
Must  steal  upon  them,  learn  their  secret  counsels, 
As  soon  thou  mayst,  and  quick  inform  us  of  them ; 
Say  thou'rt  of  Phocis,  from  Phanoteus  sent 
By  one  who  is  their  friend  and  firm  ally  ; 
Sav,  and  confirm  it  with  a  solemn  oath. 


ELECTRA.  55 

Orestes  is  no  more — by  a  rude  shock 

Thrown  from  his  chariot  at  the  Pythian  games. 

Be  this  thy  tale  :  meantime  (for  thus  the  god 

His  will  divine  expressed)  my  father's  tomb 

With  due  libations  and  devoted  hair 

Ourselves  will  crown  ;  and  thence  returning  bring, 

From  the  dark  covert  where  thou  knowst  'twas  hid, 

The  brazen  urn.     Thei-e,  we  shall  tell  the  tyrant — 

Thrice  welcome  news  ! — Orestes'  ashes  lie. 

What  should  deter  me  from  the  pious  fraud  % 

Since  my  feigned  death  but  gains  me  real  fame, 

And  I  shall  wake  to  better  life  :  the  deed 

Which  brings  success  and  honour,  must  be  good. 

Oft  times  the  wisest  and  the  best  of  men 

From  death  like  this  have  rose  with  added  greatness  ; 

E'en  so  thy  friend  to  his  deluded  foes 

Shall  soon  return  unlooked-for,  and  before  them 

Shine  like  a  star  with  more  distinguished  lustre. 

O  my  loved  country  !  and  its  guardian  gods, 

Receive  Ore.^tes,  and  with  happy  omen 

Propitious  smile  !     And  thou,  paternal  seat — 

For  lo  !  by  Heaven's  command  I  come  to  purge  thee 

Of  vile  usurpers,  and  avenge  thy  wrongs — 

Drive  me  not  from  thee  an  abandoned  exile 

With  infamy,  but  grant  me  to  possess 

My  father's  throne,  and  fix  his  injured  race. 

Thus  far  'tis  well.     My  faithful  minister, 

Thou  to  thy  office,  we  to  ours  with  speed ; 

So  time  and  opportunity  require 

On  whom  the  fate  of  mortals  must  depend. 

Electra  ^from  ivitkin].  0  misery  ! 

Gov.  Methought  a  mournful  voice 

Spake  from  within. 

Ores.  Perhaps  the  pooi-  Electra  : 

Shall  we  not  stay  and  hearken  to  it  ? 

Gov.  No : 

First  be  Apollo's  great  behests  obeyed 
Before  thy  father's  tomb.     That  pious  deed 
Performed  shall  fire  our  souls  with  nobler  wariuih, 
And  crown  our  bold  attempt  with  fair  success.     [ExucuL 


56 


ELECTRA. 


Scene    II. 


Eleotra. 


O  hJicred  light  I  and  0  thou  ambient  aii' ! 
Oft  have  ye  heard  Electra's  loud  laments, 
Her  sighs  and  groans,  and  witnessed  to  her  woes, 
Which  ever  as  each  hateful  morn  appeared 
T  poured  befoi-e  you :  what  at  eve  retired 
I  felt  of  anguish  my  sad  couch  alone 
Can  tell,  which  watered  nightly  with  my  tears 
Received  me  sorrowing — tliat  best  can  tell 
What  pangs  I  suffered  for  a  hapless  father, 
Whom  not  tlie  god  of  war  with  ruthless  hand 
Struck  nobly  fighting  in  a  distant  soil. 
But  my  fell  mother,  and  the  cursed  ^gisthus, 
The  partner  of  her  bed,  remorseless  slew. 
Untimely  didst  thou  fall,  lamented  shade, 
And  none  but  poor  Electra  mourns  thy  fate ; 
Nor  shall  she  ce;ise  to  mourn  thee,  while  these  eyes 
View  the  fair  heavens  or  behold  the  sun  ! 
Never !  oh,  never  !     Like  the  nightingale. 
Whose  plaintive  song  bewails  her  ravished  brood, 
Here  will  I  still  lament  my  father's  wrongs, 
And  teach  the  echo  to  repeat  my  moan. 
0  ye  infernal  deities  !  and  thou 
Terrestrial  Hermes  !  and  thou,  Nemesis, 
Replete  with  curses  !  and  ye  vengeful  Furies, 
Offspring  of  gods,  the  ministers  of  wrath 
To  vile  adulterers,  who  with  pity  view 
The  slaughtered  innocent— behold  this  deed  ! 
Oh  !  come,  assist,  revenge  my  father's  murder ; 
Quickly,  oh,  quickly  bring  me  my  Orestes ; 
For  lo  !  1  sink  beneath  oppressive  woe, 
And  can  no  longer  bear  the  weight  alone. 


ELECTRA.  57 

Scene  III. 
Chorus,  Electra. 

Chor.  0  wretched  daughter  of  an  impious  mother  ! 
'^I'ilt  thou  for  ever  mourn,  for  ever  thus, 
With  unavailing  tears  and  endless  sorrow, 
Lament  the  royal  Agamemnon's  fate, 
By  a  vile  woman's  wicked  arts  betrayed  % 
Perish  the  hand  (forgive  the  pious  curse. 
Ye  heavenly  powers  !)  that  gave  the  deadly  blow  I 

Elec.  My  noble  friends  and  partners  in  affliction, 
Who  thus,  to  soothe  my  sorrows,  kindly  try 
Each  art  which  love  and  friendship  can  inspire  ; 
Ye  come  to  comfort  me,  I  know  ye  do. 
I  know  my  tears  are  fruitless  all  and  vain ; 
But,  oh !  permit  me  to  indulge  my  griefs, 
For  I  must  weep. 

Chor.  Thy  tears  can  ne'er  recall  him 

From  the  dark  mansions  of  the  common  grave — 
No,  nor  thy  prayers ;  they  can  but  make  thee  wretched, 
And  sink  thee  deeper  in  calamity. 
Why  art  thou  then  so  fond  of  misery  % 

Elec.  Devoid  of  sense  and  feeling  is  the  heart 
That  can  forget  an  injured  parent's  wrongs. 
I  love  the  airy  messenger  of  Jove, 
The  mournful  bird  that  weeps  her  Ity's  fate, 
And  every  night  repeats  the  tender  tale ; 
Thee,  too,  I  reverence  as  a  goddess — thee, 
Unhappy  Niobe  !  for  still  thou  weepst, 
And  from  the  marble  tears  eternal  flow. 

Chor.  But  oh  !  reflect,  that  not  to  thee  alone 
Misfortune  comes — that  comes  to  all.  ,•    Behold 
Iphianassa,  and  Chrysotliemis, 
And  him  who  hides  his  grief,  illustrious  youth,; 
The  loved  Orestes — these' have  suffered  too.    " 

Elec.  Orestes !     Yes,  Mycense  shall  receive 
In  happy  hour  her  great  avenger ;  Jove, 
With  smiles  auspicious,  shall  conduct  him,  to  me  j 
For  him  alone  1  wait — for  him,  a  wretch 


ss 


ifo  is  gone  ! 


Despised,  of  children  and  of  nuptial  rites 
Hopeless  I  wander.     lie  remembers  not 
What  I  luvve  done  for  him,  what  suffered ;  stil 
With  airy  promises  he  mocks  my  hopes, 
And  yet  he  comes  not  to  me. 

Chor.  But  he  will. 

Despair  not,  daughter ;  Jo^ejsj^et^n  heaven, 
ITahe  god  who  sees,  and  knows,  and  governs  all 
f \  Patient  to  him  submit,  nor  let  thy  rage 
Too  far  transport  thee,  nor  oblivion  drown 
The  just  remembrance  of  thy  matchless  woes  ; 
Time  is  a  kind  indulgent  deity, 
And  he  shall  givt*  thee  succour ;  he  shall  send 
The  god  of  Acheron,  from  Chrysa's  shores. 
To  bring  Orestes  and  avenge  thy  wrongs. 

Elfx'.  Oh  !  but  the  while  how  much  of 
And  I  a  hapless  wretched  orphan  still, 
Without  a  friend  to  guard  or  to  protect  me — 
Disgraced,  dishonoured,'  like  a  stranger  clad 
In  base  attire,  and  fed  with  homeliest  fare. 

Chor.  Sad  news  indepd  the  hapless  messenger 
To  Argos  brought,  that\spoke  the  wished  return 
Of  thy  loved  father  to  his  native  soil ; 
Fatal  the  night  when  Agamemnon  fell 
Or  by  a  mortal  or  immortal  hand ; 
The  w^ork  of  fraud  and  lust,  a  horrid  deed  ! 
Whoe'er  performed  it. 

Eleo.  O  detested  feast ! 

0,jCfe;y,  the  bitt'rest  sure;  that  ever  rose  ! 
With  him  I  perished  then.  .  But  may  the  gods 
Repay  the  murderers ;  never  may  they  hear 
The  voice  of  joy,  or  taste  of  comfort  more  ! 

Chor.  Cease  thy  complaints;  already  hast  thou  suffered 
For  thy  loud  discontents  and  threatened  vengeance. 
'Tis  folly  to  contend  with  power  superior. 

Elec.  Folly  indeed,  and  madness  !     But  my  griefs 
Will  force  their  way,  and  whilst  Electra  breathes 
She  must  lament ;  for  who  will  bring  me  comfort, 
Or  soothe  my  sorrows  ?     Let  me — let  me  go, 
And  weep  for  ever.    ^ 

Chor.  /   'Tis  my  love  entreats  j 


ELECTRA.  59 

Trust  me,  1  feel  a  mother's  fondness  for  thee, 
And  fain  would  save  thee  from  redoubled  woes. 

Elec.  And  wouldst  thou  have  me  then  neglect  the 
dead  % 
Forget  my  father  !     Can  there  be  such  guilt  % 
When  I  do  so,  may  infamy  pursue  me ! 
And  if  I  wed,  may  all  the  joys  of  love 
Be  far  removed  !     If  vengeance  doth  not  fall 
On  crimes  like  these,  for  ever  farewell,  justice — 
Shame,  honour,  truth,  and  piety,  farewell ! 

Chor.  Pardon  me,  daughter ;  if  my  warmth  oileud, 
Glad  I  submit.     We'll  follow,  and  obey  thee. 

Elec.  I  am  myself  to  blame,  and  blush  to  think 
How  much  unfit  I  seem  to  liear  the  weight 
Imposed  upon  me  ;  but  indeed  'tis  great. 
Forgive  me,  friends,  a  woman  born  as  I  am, 
Must  she  not  grieve  to  see  each  added  minute 
Fraught  with  new  mis'ries  %     Thus  to  be  a  slave 
E'en  in  my  father's  house,  and  from  those  hands 
Which  shed  his  blood  to  ask  the  means  of  life  ! 
Think  what  my  soul  must  sufter  to  behold 
The  cursed  -<3l]gisthus  seated  on  the  throne 
Of  Agamemnon,  in  the  very  robes 
Which  once  were  his — to  see  the  tyrant  pour 
Libations  forth  e'en  on  the  fat;d  spot 
Where  the  sad  deed  was  done.     But,  worst  of  all. 
To  see  the  murderer  usurp  his  bed. 
Embrace  my  mother  (by  that  honoured  name 
If  I  may  call  a  guilty  wretch  like  her). 
Who,  pleased,  returns  his  love,  and,  of  her  crimes    i 
I  Unconscious,  smiles,  nor  fears  th'  avenging  Furies  U 
I  But  ever  as  the  bloody  day  returns  '  1 

Which  gave  the  royal  victim  to  her  wiles,  j  ^ 

Annual  the  dance  and  choral  song  proclaim 
A  solemn  feast,  nor  impious  sacrifice 
Forgets  she  then  to  her  protecting  gods. 
Shocked  at  the  cruel  banquet  I  letire, 
And  in  some  corner  hide  my  griefs,  denied 
E'en  the  sad  comfort  to  indulge  my  sorrows, 
For  Clytemnestra  in  opprobrious  terms 
lleviles  me  oft ;  *'  To  thee  alone,"  she  cries, 


6o 


■LECTRA. 


"  Is  Agamemnon  lost,  detested  maid  ! 
Thinkst  thou  Electra  only  weeps  his  fate  ? 
Perdition  on  thee  !     May  th'  infernal  gods 
J^efuse  thee  succour,  and  protract  thy  pains  !  " 
Thus  rails  she  bitter,  and  if  chance  she  hear 
Orestes  is  approaching,  stung  with  rage 
Wild  she  exclaims,  "  Thou  art  th'  accursed  cause  ; 
This  is  thy  deed,  who  stole  Orestes  from  mo. 
And  hid  him  from  my  rage  ;  but  be  assured 
Ere  long  my  vengeance  shall  o'ertake  thee  for  it 
These  threats  her  noble  lord  still  urges  on — 
That  vile  adulterei",  that  abandoned  coward, 
Whose  fearful  soul  called  in  a  woman's  aid 
To  execute  his  bloody  purposes. 
Meantime  Electra  sighs  for  her  Orestes, 
Her  wished  avenger ;  his  unkind  delay 
Destroys  my  hopes.     Alas  !  my  gentle  friends, 
Who  can  bear  this,  and  keep  an  equal  mind  % 
To  suffer  ills  like  mine,  and  not  to  err 
From  wild  distraction,  would  be  strange  indeed. 

Chor.  But  say,  Electra,  is  the  tyrant  near  ? 
Or  may  we  speak  our  thoughts  unblamed  ? 

Elec.  Thou  mayst ; 

I  had  not  else  beyond  the  palace  dai-ed 
To  wander  hither. 

CnoR.  I  would  fain  have  asked  thee 

Elec.  Ask  what  thou  wilt,  ^gisthus  is  far  off. 
""Chor.  Touching  thy  brother  then,  inform  me  quick 
If  aught  thou  knowst  that  merits  firm  belief. 

Elec.  He  promises,  but  comes  not. 

Chor.  Things  of  moment 

Require  deliberation  and  delay. 

Elec.  Oh  !  but  did  I  delay  to  save  Orestes  ? 

Chor.  He  boasts  a  noble  nature,  and  will  ne'er 
Forget  his  friends  :  be  confident. 

Elec.  I  am, 

Were  I  not  so  I  had  not  lived  till  now. 

Chor.  But  soft^  behold  the  fair  Chrysothemis 
Advance  this  way,  and  in  her  hand  she  bears 
Sepulchral  offerings  to  the  shades  below. 


ELECTRA.  6 1 

Scene  IV. 

Ohrysothemis,  Electra,  Chorus. 

Chry.  Still,  my  Electra,  pouring  forth  thy  giiefs  % 
Art  thou  not  yet  by  sad  experience  taught 
How  little  they  avail  ?  I  too  must  feel 
And  could  resent,  as,  were  thy  sister's  power 
But  equal  to  her  will,  our  foes  should  know. 
Meantime  with  lowered  sail  to  bear  the  storm 
Befits  us  best,  nor,  helpless  as  we  are, 
With  idle  hopes  to  meditate  revenge ; 
Yield  then  with  me,  and  though  impartial  justice 
Plead  on  thy  side,  remember,  if  we  prize 
Or  hfe  or  liberty,  we  must  obey. 

Elec.  It  ill  becomes  great  Agamemnon's  daughter 
Thus  to  forget  her  noble  father's  worth. 
And  take  a  base  unworthy  mother's  part ; 
For  well  I  see  from  whom  thy  counsels  flow ; 
Nought  from  thyself  thou  sayst  but  all  from  her  X 
/^l^ther  thy  reason 's  lost,  or  if  thou  hast  it, 
» Tliou  hast  forgot  thy  friends  who  should  be  dear 
And  precious  to  thee.     Of  thy  boasted  hate 
Again^i  our  foes,  and  what  thou  vauntst  to  do 
If  thou  i^adst  power  I  reck  not,  whilst  with  me 
Thou  wilt\i0t  join  in  great  revenge,  but  still 
Dissuadsfc  nie  from  it ;  is 't  not  cowardly 
To  leave  me  Mius  %     Tell  me,  I  beg  thee,  tell  me 
"What  mighty  gain  awaits  my  tame  submission, 
Should  I  suppress  my  griefs.    I  can  but  live ; 
That  I  do  now — aN:jvretched  life  indeed  ! 
But  'tis  enough  for\ie,  and  I  am  happy 
Whilst  I  can  torture  ^em,  and  to  the  dead 
Pay  grateful  honours — If^tp  them  such  care 
Aught  grateful  can  bestov^ij   Thy  hate,  I  fear  me, 
Is  but  in  word :  thou  dost  ibefriend  the  murderers  : 
For  me,  not  all  the  wealth  they  could  bestow, 
Not  all  the  gifts  which  they  have  poured  on  thee. 
Should  bind  me  to  'em.     Take  thy  costly  banquets, 
And  let  thy  days  with  ease  and  pleasure  flow ; 


62 


Crive  me  but  focxl,  and  I  am  satisfied. 

1  wish  not  for  thy  houours,  nor  wouldst 

If  thou  wert  wise,  receive  them  at  their  hands. 

Thou  mightst  be  daughter  to  the  best  of  fathers, 

And  art  thy  mother's  only.     Take  that  name, 

And  henceforth  all  shall  mark  thee  as  a  wretch 

Who  hath  betrayed  her  father  and  her  friends. 

Choii.  1  do  entreat  you,  let  not  anger  come 
Between  you  thus  ;  you  both  have  reasoned  well, 
And  much  of  mutual  benefit  may  flow 
If  each  to  other  lend  a  patient  ear. 

Chry.   Custom,  niy  noble  friends,  hath  made  re- 
proach 
Familiar  to  me,  and,  so  well  I  know 
Her  haughty  mind,  1  had  been  silent  still. 
But  that  I  saw  the  danger ^immiuent, 
And  came  to  warn  her  of  the  fatal  stroke 
Which  soon  must  end  her  and  her  griefs  together. 

Elec.  Tell  me  this  mighty  danger ;  if  aught  more 
It  threaten  than  Electra  long  hath  borne, 
T  yield  me  to  thy  counsels. 

Chry.  Hear  me  then : 

Know,  thou  art  doomed,  unless  thou  dost  refrain 
Tiiy  clamorous  griefs,  far  from  the  light  of  day 
And  this  thy  native  soil,  within  a  cell 
Dismal  and  dark,  to  spend  the  poor  remains 
Of  thy  sad  life,  and  tliere  lament  thy  fate. 

Elec.  Is  it  decreed  ?     Must  it  in  truth  be  so  ? 

Chry.  Soon  as  ^Egisthus  shall  return,  it  must. 

Elec.  Quick  let  him  come :  I  long  to  see  him  here. 

Chry.  Alas  !  what  dreadful  imprecations  these  ! 

Elec.  Would  he  were  present,  if  foi'  this  he  comes  ! 

Chry.  What !  to  destroy  thee  !  Is  thy  mind  dis- 
turbed i 

Elec.  That  I  might  fly  for  ever  from  thy  sight. 

Chry.  Wilt  thou  not  think  how  to  preserve  thy  life  ; 

Elec.  Mine  is  a  blessed  hfe  indeed  to  think  of. 

Chry.  It  might  be  blest,  if  thou  wouldst  have  it  so. 

Elec.  Teach  me  not  basely  to  betray  my  friends. 

Chry.  I  do  not ;  all  I  ask  thee  is  to  yield 
To  powers  superior. 


ELECTRA.  63 

Elec.  Fawn  on  them  thyself ; 

Thou  dost  not  know  Electra. 

Chry.  Sure  it  better 

Deserves  the  name  of  wisdom  to  avoid 
Than  hasten  thy  destruction. 

Elec.  N'o,  to  die 

Were  pleasure,  could  I  but  avenge  my  father. 

Chry.  Our  father,  doubt  it  not,  will  pardon  thee. 

Elec.  'Tis  mean  to  think  so. 

Chry.  Wilt  thou  not  consent  1 

Elec.  Never,  oh  never,  be  my  soul  so  weak ! 

Chry,  Then  to  my  errand  :  fare  thee  well. 

Elec.  To  whom, 

Chrysothemis,  and  whither  dost  thou  bear 
Those  sacred  ofF'rings  ? 

Chry.  To  our  father's  tomb. 

From  Clytemnestra. 

Elec.                        To  the  man  she  hated  ? 
The  man,  my  sister 

(^   Chry.  Whom  she  killed,  I  know, 

Thou  would  have  said^,,,— 

Elec.  ^^.^■'why,  what  should  move  her  to  it  ? 

Chry.  If  I  mistake  not,  horrors  late  impressed  jl 
From  a  sad  vision.  '^ 

Elec.  0  my  country's  gods  ! 

Succour  me  now  ! 

Chry.  -  What  hopes  dost  thou  conceive 

From  this  ? 

Elec.  The  dream  :  and  I  will  tell  thee  all. 

Chry.  I  know  but  little  of  it. 

Elec  Tell  me  that : 

Oftimes  to  words,  how  few  soe'er  they  be. 
Is  given  the  power  to  save  or  to  destroy. 

Chry.  Once  more  to  light  returned  (so  fame  reports) 
Before  her  our  loved  father  did  appear. 
The  royal  sceptre  wielded  in  his  hand 
Which  now  -^gisthus  bears,  whence  seemed  to  spring 
A  green  and  leafy  branch,  whose  wide  extent 
O'er  all  Mycenae  spread  its  verdant  shade : 
This  did  I  learn,  and  this  alone,  from  one 
Who  listened  long:  attentive  while  she  told 


ELFXTRA, 


Her  vision  to  tlie  sun ;  hence  all  her  fears, 
And  hence  my  destined  journey,  i 

Elec.  -^  By  the  gods 

Let  mo  conjure  thee,  hear  me.     If  thou  dost  not, 
Too  late  shall  thou  repent,  when  for  thy  guilt 
Evil  o'ertako  thee.     O  Chr}'sothemis  ! 
Never,  I  heg  theo,  to  our  father's  tomb 
Bear  thou  those  offerings  ;  'twere  a  horrid  deed 
From  such  a  woman.     Give  'em  to  the  winds ; 

(Ijet  them  he  hid,  deep  buried  in  the  sands, 
And  not  the  smallest  grain  escape  to  reach 
That  hallawcfd  place  ;  let  'em  remain  for  her, 
Safe  in  the  earth  tiH  she  shall  meet  'fittTthere^ 
None  but  this  shameless,  tins  abandoned  woman, 
Would  e'er  with  impious  oft'rings  thus  adorn 
The  tomb  of  him  she  murdered./^  By  the  dead 
Thinkst  thou  such  gifts  can  be  with  joy  received  ? 
Gifts  from  that  hand  which  from  his  mangled  corse 
Severed  his  lifeless  limbs,  and  on  the  head 

I  |0f  the  poor  victim  wiped  her  bloody  sword  ? 

I  (Madness  to  think  that  offerings  and  ablutions 
Could  purge  such  crimes,  or  wash  her  stains  away; 
Never,  oh  never  \J  But  of  this  no  more. 
Instant,  my  sister,  thy  devoted  hair 
With  these  dishevelled  locks  and  this  my  zone, 
Plain  as  it  is  and  unadorned,  shalt  thou 
Bear  to  our  father.     Wretched  offerings  these  ! 
But,  Oh  !  'tis  all  Electra  now  can  give. 
Bear  them,  and  suppliant  on  thy  knees  implore 

him 
To  smile  propitious  and  assist  his  children  ; 
Pray  for  Orestes,  too,  tlmt  soon  with  power 
He  may  return,  and  trample  on  our  foes  ; 
So  shall  a  fairer  tribute  one  day  grace 
His  honoured  tomb,  than  now  we  can  bestow. 
Trust  me,  my  sister,  we  are  still  his  care — 
I  know  we  are.   S^rom  him  the  vision  came, 
The  horrid  dream  that  shook  her  guilty  soul : 
Now  then,  I  beg  thee^be  a  friend  to  me, 
Be  to  thyself  a  friend^  a  friend  to  him 
Of  all  mankind  the  dearest,  our  dead  father. 


ELECTRA,  65 

Chor.  Well  doth  the  pious  virgin  speak,  and  thou 
Must  yield  to  her  requests. 

Chry.  And  so  I  will. 

"Where  reason  dictates,  strife  should  never  come ; 
But  quick,  despatch  !  fulfil  her  just  commands. 
Yet,  0  my  friends  I  remember,  our  attempt 
Is  full  of  danger,  and  let  nought  escape 
That  may  betray  me  to  my  cruel  mother ; 
For  if  it  reach  her  ear,  this  daring  act, 
I  fear  me  much,  shall  one  day  cost  us  dear. 

\Exit  Ohrysothemis. 


Scene  Y. 

Chorus,  Electra. 
Chorus. 

Or  my  prophetic  mind  is  now  no  more 
Attentive  as  of  old  to  wisdom's  lore, 

Or  justice  comes,  with  speedy  vengeance  fraught ; 

Behold  !  the  goddess  armed  with  power  appears- 
It  must  be  so,  by  Clytemnestra's  fears. 

And  the  dire  dream  that  on  her  fancy  wrought : 
Thy  father,  not  unmindful  of  his  fate. 
Shall  hither  come  his  wrongs  to  vindicate  ; 

And,  in  his  gore  imbrued. 
The  fatal  axe  with  him  shall  rise, 
Shall  ask  another  sacrifice, 

And  drink  with  him  the  cruel  tyrant's  blood. 

Antistro'phe. 

Lo  !  with  unnumbered  hands  and  countless  feet, 

The  fury  comes  her  destined  prey  to  meet ; 
Deep  in  the  covert  hid  she  glides  unseen, 

Hangs  o'er  the  trembUng  murderer's  head, 

Or  steals  to  the  adultrous  bed, 
An  awful  witness  of  the  guilty  scene  ; 


ELKCTRA. 

Doubtless  the  dream  with  all  its  terrors  meant 

For  crimes  like  these  Bome  dreadful  punishment, 
I  f  mortals  aught  from  nightly  visions  know, 

If  truth  from  great  Apollo's  shrine 

Appears  in  oracles  divine, 
1  *resagiug  bliss  to  come,  or  threat'ning  future  woe. 


J""' 


C)  Pelops  ;  to  thy  countiy  and  to  thco 

The  fatal  course  brought  woe  and  misery  ; 
For  since  the  time  v/hen,  from  his  chariot  thi'own, 

For  thee  the  guilty  wreath  to  gain, 

The  hapless  Myrtihis  was  slain, 
Nought  has  thy  wretched  race  but  grief  and  sorrow 
known. 


Act  II. 

Scene  I. 

Clytemnestra,  Electra,  Chorus 

Clytemnestra.  ^gisthus  absent,  who  alone  could  curb 
Thy  haughty  spirit  and  licentious  tongue. 
At  large,  it  seems,  thou  rov'st,  and  unrestrained, 
No  deference  paid  to  my  authority. 
But  on  thy  mother  ever  pouring  forth 
Bitter  invectives,  while  the  listening  crowd 
Are  taught  to  hold  me  proud  and  fierce  of  soul, 
A  lawless  tyrant  slandering  thee  and  thine 
I  am  no  slanderer — I  abhor  the  name ; 
But  oft  reviled,  of  force  I  must  reply, 
And  send  thy  foul  reproaches  back  upon  thee. 

I  Thou  sayst  I  slew  thy  father  ;  that  alone 
RIs  left  to  plead  for  all  thy  insolence. 

I I  do  confess  the  deed,  and  glory  in  it. , 
T  slew  thy  father ;  yet  not  I  alone, 
I  had  the  hand  of  justice  to  assist  m( 


ELECTRA.  67 

And  should  have  had  Electra's.    Well  thou  knowst 

That  cruel  father,  for  whom  thus  thy  tears 

Incessant  flow,  that  father  slew  his  child  : 

He,  he  alone  of  all  the  Grecian  host 

Gave  up  his  daughter — horrid  sacrifice — 

To  the  offended  gods  :  he  never  felt 

A  mother's  pangs,  and  therefore  thought  not  of  them, 

Or,  if  he  did,  why  slay  the  innocent  % 

For  Greece,  thou  tellst  me  !  Greece  could  never  claim 

A  right  to  what  was  mine.     Or  did  she  fall 

For  Menelaus  %     He  had  children  too  : 

Why  might  not  they  have  died  ?     Their  parent's  guilt, 

Source  of  the  war,  more  justly  had  deserved  it. 

Or  thinkst  thou  death  with  keener  appetite 

Could  feast  on  mine,  and  Helen's  not  aflbrd 

As  sweet  a  banquet  %    Whv  was  all  the  lo_ve, 

To  me  and  to  my  child  so  justly  dUe, 

With  lavish  hand  bestowed  on  Menelaus  % 

Was  he  not  then  a  base  inhuman  father  \ 

He  was ;  and  so,  could  Iphigenia  speak, 

Thy  breathless  sister,  she  too  would  declare. 

Know  then,  I  grieve  not ;  shame  or  penitence 

I  feel  not  for  the  deed  ;  and  if  to  thee 

It  seems  so  heinous,  weigh  each  circumstance, 

Remember  what  he  did,  and  lay  the  blame 

On  him  who  well  deserved  the  fate  he  suffered. 

Elec.  Thou  hast  no  plea  for  bitterness  like  this  ; 
Thou  canst  not  say  that  I  provoked  thee  to  it. 
I  have  been  silent :  had  I  leave  to  speak 
I  could  defend  an  injured  father's  cause, 
And  tell  thee  wherefore  Iphigenia  fell. 

Cly.  I  do  permit  thee  ;  and  if  modest  thus 
Thou  hadst  addressed  me  always  thy  free  speech 
Had  ne'er  offended. 

Elec.  Hast  thou  not  confessed 

That  thou  didst  slay  my  father  ?    Whether  justice 
Approve  or  not,  'twas  horrid  to  confess  it : 
But  justice  never  could  persuade  thee — no ! 
I'll  tell  thee  who  it  was,  it  was  ^gisthus. 
The  wretch  wdth  whom  thou  liv'st.     Go  ask  the  goddess. 
The  immortal  huntress,  why  the  winds  were  stayed 

c  3 


68  ELECTKA, 

So  long  at  Aiilis.     But  thou  must  not  ask 

The  chaste  Diana !     Take  it,  then,  from  me. 

My  father  once,  as  for  the  chase  prepared, 

Cai'eless  he  wandered  through  her  wecret  grove, 

Forth  from  its  covert  roused  a  spotted  hind 

Of  fairest  form,  with  towering  antlers  graced, 

Pursued  and  slew  her.     Of  the  deity 

Something  with  pride  elate  he  uttered  then 

Disdainful.     Quick  resenting  the  affront, 

Latona's  daughter  stayed  the  Grecian  fleet, 

Nor  would  forgive,  till  for  her  slaughtered  beast 

Th'  offending  father  sacrificed  his  child. 

Thus  Iphigenia  fell ;  and  but  for  her 

Greece  ne'er  had  seen  or  Ilion's  lofty  towers, 

Or  her  own  native  soil.     The  father  strove 

In  vain  to  save,  and  not  for  Menelaus 

He  gave  her  up  at  last,  but  for  his  country. 

Suppose  a  brother's  fondness  had  prevailed, 

And  she  was  given  for  him,  would  that  excuse 

Thy  horrid  deed  %     What  laAv  required  it  of  thee  ? 

That  law  alone  by  w^hich  thyself  must  fall ; 

If  blood  for  blood  be  due,  thy  doom  is  fixed. 

Plead  not  so  poorly  then,  but  tell  me  why 

Thou  liv'st  adultrous  thus  with  a  vile  ruflian, 

Thy  base  assistant  ?     Why  are  those  who  sprung 

From  thy  first  nuptials  cast  unkindly  forth 

For  his  new  race  ?     Was  this  thy  piety  ? 

Was  this,  too,  to  revenge  thy  daughter's  death  ? 

In  pure  revenge  to  wed  her  deadhest  foe 

Was  noble,  was  it  not  ?     But  I  forget : 

You  are  my  mother — so  it  seems  you  say — 

And  I  must  hold  my  peace.     But  I  deny  it ; 

I  say  your  are  my  mistress,  not  my  mother — 

A  cruel  mistress  that  afliicts  my  soul, 

And  makes  this  weary  life  a  burthen  to  me. 

Orestes  too,  the  hapless  fugitive. 

Who  once  escaped  thy  fatal  hand,  now  drags 

A  loathsome  being.     Him,  thou  sayst,  I  looked  for 

To  join  in  my  revenge,  and  so  I  did ; 

T  would  have  been  revenged,  I  tell  thee  so. 

Say,  I  am  base,  malicious,  impudent, 


ELECTRA,  ^ 

Abusive,  what  thou  wilt ;  for  if  I  am 
It  speaks  my  birth,  and  I  resemble  thee. 

Chob.  Kesentment  deep  hath  fired  the  virgin's 
breast ; 
Whether  with  truth  and  justice  on  her  side 
She  speak,  I  know  not. 

Cly.  Can  they  plead  for  her  ? 

What  care,  what  love,  or  tenderness  is  due 
To  an  abandoned  child,  who  shameless  thus 
Keviles  a  pai-ent  ?     I*-tttere,  iifteF^isT^ 
A  criTQft  in  nature  shajgould  blush  to  act  ? 

Elec.  I  am  not  base,  nor  shameless,  as  thou  callst 
me, 
For  know,  even  now  I  blush  for  what  is  past — 
Indecent  warmth,  and  words  that  ill  became 
My  tender  years  and  virgin  modesty  ; 
But  'twas  thy  guilt,  thy  malice  urged  me  to  it : 
From  bad  examples  bad  alone  we  learn — 
I  only  erred  because  I  followed  thee. 

Cly.  Impudent  wretch  !  And  am  I  then  the  cause 
Of  all  thy  clamorous  insolence  % 

Elec.  Thou  art : 

Foul  is  thy  speech,  because  thy  deed  was  foul ; 
For  words  from  actions  flow. 

Cly.  By  chaste  Diana, 

Soon  as  j^gisthus  comes  thy  boldness  meets 
Its  just  reward. 

Elec.  Is  this  thy  promised  leave, 

So  lately  granted,  freely  to  unfold 
What,  now  incensed,  thou  dost  refuse  to  hear  ? 

Cly.  Have  I  not  heard  thee,  and  in  base  return 
With  luckless  omen  dost  thou  now  retard 
My  pious  sacrifice  % 

Elec.  Oh  !  far  from  me 

Be  guilt  like  that ;  perform  it,  I  beseech  thee. 
In  holy  silence  shall  these  lips  be  closed, 
And  not  a  word  escape  to  thwart  thy  purpose. 

Cly.  [speaking  to  one  of  her  atteyidcints].  Hither  do  thou 
the  sacred  offerings  bring, 
Of  various  fruits  composed,  that  to  the  god 
Whose  altars  we  adorn  my  fervent  prayer 


May  rise  ac«.'ei>leil,  ain.!  <lispel  iny  fears. 

Hear  theu,  Apollo !  great  protector,  hear 

My  secret  vows,  for  with  no  friendly  ear 

My  voice  is  heard :   her  malice  would  hetray, 

Should  I  unveil  my  heart,  each  word  1  uttered, 

And  sc«atter  idle  rumours  through  the  crowd. 

Thus  then  accept  my  prayers,  Lycean  Phoebus  I      [uloiaL 

If  in  the  doubtful  visions  of  the  night 

Which  broke  my  slumbers,  aught  presaging  good 

Thou  seest,  propitious,  oh  !  confirm  it  all ; 

But  if  of  dire  portent,  and  fraught  with  ill 

To  me  and  mine  they  came,  avert  the  omen, 

And  send  the  evil  back  upon  my  foes ! 

Oh  !  if  there  are  whose  fraudful  arts  conspire 

To  cast  me  foi'th  from  all  my  present  bliss, 

Let  them  not  prosper,  but  protect  me  still ! 

Grant  me  to  live  and  i-eign  in  quiet  here, 

To  spend  each  happy  hour  with  those  I  love — 

With  those  my  children  who  have  ne'er  offended 

By  malice,  pride,  and  bitterness  of  soul — 

Grant  this,  indulgent  Phoebus  !     What  remains 

I^nasked  thou  seest ;  for  nought  escapes  the  eye 

Of  gods,  such  knowledge  have  the  sons  of  Jove. 


SOEN^E   II. 

Governor  of  Orestes,  Clytemnestra,  Electra, 
Chorus. 

Gov.  Is  this  the  royal  palace  of  ^gisthus  ? 

Chor.  Stranger,  it  is. 

Gov.  And  this — for  such  her  form 

And  look  majestic  speak  her — is  his  queen  ; 
Is  it  not  so? 

Chor.  It  is. 

Gov.  Great  sovereign,  hail ! 

With  joyful  news  I  come,  and  from  a  friend, 
To  thee  and  to  ^-Egisthus. 

C^LY.  Strangei',  welcome ! 

Say,  first,  from  whom  thy  message  1 


Gov.  Fron^nanoteus  ^ 

A  Phocian  sends  thee  things  of  utmost  nioment. 

Cly.  Of  moment  gayst  thou  1    What  ?     Impart  them 
quick  ! 
Of  friendly  import,  if  from  thence  they  come, 
I  know  they  must  be. 

Gov.  Briefly  then,  'tis  this  : 

Orestes  is  no  more. 

Elec.  Undone  Electra ! 

Now  am  I  lost  indeed. 

Cly.  What  sayst  thou  1     Speak  ! 

Regard  not  her — go  on  ! 

Gov.  I  say  again, 

Orestes  is  no  more. 

Elec.  Then  what  am  1 1 

I  too  am  nothing. 

Cly.  [to  Electra].  Get  thee  hence — away  ! 
Disturb  us  not — most  welcome  messenger  ! 

[to  the  Governor. 
Go  on,  I  beg  thee,  let  me  hear  it  all ! 
Say  how  he  died,  tell  every  circumstance. 

Gov.  For  that  I  came,  and  I  will  tell  thee  all. 
Know  then,  Orestes  at  the  Pythian  games, 
Eager  for  glory,  met  assembled  Greece. 
Soon  as  the  herald's  far-resounding  voice 
Proclaimed  the  course,  the  p^racpfnt  ynnth  appeared^ 
And  was  by  all  admired.     Successful  soon 
He  reached  the  goal,  and  bore  his  prize  away. 
Ne'er  did  these  eyes  behold  such  feats  performed 
By  mortal  strength ;  in  every  course  superior, 
He  rose  victorious.     Theme  of  every  tongue 
Was  the  brave  Argive,  great  Atrides'  son, 
Who  led  the  Grecian  host.     But  oh  !  in  vain 
Doth  human  valour  strive  when  power  divine 
Pursues  vindictive  !     The  succeeding  morn 
Uprose  the  sun,  and  with  him  all  the  train 
Of  youthful  rivals  in  the  chariot  race : 
One  from  Achaia,  one  from  Sparta  came, 
Of  Afric's  sons  advanced  a  noble  pair. 
And  joined  the  throng.     With  these  Orestes  drove 
His  swift  Thessalian  steeds ;  ^tolia  next, 


7« 


ELECTl 


For  yellow  coursers  famed ;  and  next  Magnesin  ; 

And  Athens,  built  by  hands  divine,  sent  forth 

Her  skilful  charioteer  ;  an  .^nian  next 

Drove  his  white  liorses  through  the  field  ;  and  last 

A  brave  Bieotian  closed  the  warrior  train. 

And  now  in  order  ran/^ed,  as  each  by  lot 

Determined  stood,  forth  at  the  trumpet's  sound 

They  rushed  together,  shook  their  gUttering  reins, 

And  lashed  their  foaming  coursers  o'er  the  plain. 

Loud  was  the  din  of  rattling  cars  involved 

In  dusty  clouds ;  close  on  each  other  pressed 

Tlie  rival  youths,  together  stopped,  and  turned 

Together  all,  the  hapless  ^nian  first : 

His  fiery  steeds  impatient  of  subjection, 

Entangled  on  the  Lybian  chariot  hung. 

Confusion  soon  and  terror  through  the  crowd 

Disastrous  spread ;  the  jarring  axles  rung ; 

Wheel  within  wheel  now  cracked,  till  Chrysa's  field 

Was  with  the  scattered  ruins  quite  o'erspread. 

Th'  Athenian  cautious  viewed  the  distant  danger, 

Drew  in  the  rein,  and  turned  his  car  aside, 

Then  passed  them  all.     Orestes,  who,  secure 

Of  conquest,  lagged  behind,  with  eager  pace 

Now  urged  his  rapid  course,  and  swift  pursued. 

Sharp  was  the  contest :  now  th'  Athenian  first, 

And  now  Orestes  o'er  his  coursers  hung. 

Now  side  by  tide  they  ran.     When  to  the  last 

And  fatal  goal,  they  came,  Atrides'  son, 

As  chance  with  slackened  rein  he  turned  the  car, 

Full  on  the  pillar  struck,  tore  from  the  wheel 

Its  brittle  spokes,  and  from  his  seat  down  dropped 

Precipitate.     Entangled  in  the  reins 

His  fiery  coursers  dragged  him  o'er  the  field, 

Whilst  shrieking  crowds   with  pity  viewed   the 

youth. 
Whose  gallant  deeds  deserved  a  better  fate. 
Scarce  could  they  stop  the  rapid  car,  or  loose 
His  mangled  corse,  so  drenched  in  blood,  so  changed, 
That  scarce  a  friend  could  say  it  was  Orestes. 
Straight  on  the  pile  they  burnt  his  sad  remains, 
And,  in  an  urn  enclosed,  a  chosen  few 


ELECTRA.  73 

From  Phocis  sent  have  brought  his  ashes  home, 
To  reap  due  honours  in  his  native  land. 

Thus  have  I  told  thee  all,  a  dreadful  tale ! 
But,  oh  !  how  far  more  dreadful  to  behold  it. 
And  be  like  me  a  witness  of  the  scene  ! 

Chor.  Ah  me !  the  royal  race,  the  ancient  house 
Of  my  loved  master  is  no  more  ! 

Cly.  Great  Jove ! 

Th'  event  was  happy,  but  'tis  mixed  with  woe. 
//For,  oh  !  'tis  bitter  to  reflect  that  life  V  \ 

[/  And  safety  must  be  purchased  by  misfortunes.       ^ 

Gov.  Why  grieve  you,  madam  ? 

Cly.  'Tis  a  bitter  task 

To  bring  forth  children  ;  though  a  mother 's  wronged, 
A  mother  cannot  hate  the  babe  she  bore. 
"TjI^ov.  Then  with  ungrateful  news  in  vain  I  came. 

Cly.  Oh  no !     Most  welcome  is  the  man  who  brings 
Such  joyful  tidings,  that  a  thankless  child 
Is  gone,  who  left  a  tender  mother's  arms 
To  live  a  voluntary  exile  from  me  \ 
Ne'er  to  these  eyes  returned,  but  absent  raged. 
And  threatened  vengeance  for  his  murdered  father. 
Day  had  no  rest  for  me,  nor  did  the  night 
Bring  needful  slumbers — thoughts  of  instant  death 
Appalled  me  ever.     But  my  fears  are  gone  ! 
He  cannot  hurt  me  now,  nor,  worse  than  him, 
This  vile  domestic  plague,  who  haunts  me  still 
To  suck  my  vital  blood  \  but  henceforth  safe, 
Spite  of  her  threats,  shall  Clytemnestra  live. 

Elec.  Now,  my  Orestes,  I  indeed  must  mourn 
Thy  cruel  fate,  embittered  by  reproach, 
And  from  a  mother's  tongue.     This  is  not  v/ell. 

Cly.  With  him  it  is,  and  would  it  were  with  thee  ! 

Elec.  Attend,  0  Nemesis !  and  hear  the  dead ! 

Cly.  She  heard  that  voice  which  best  deserved  her 
ear. 
And  her  decrees  are  just. 

Elec.  Go  on,  proud  woman  ; 

Insult  us  now,  whilst  fortune  smiles  upon  thee 

Cly.  Dost  thou  then  hope  that  we  shall  fall  hei-e- 
after? 


ELECTRA. 

Elec.  No  ;  we  are  fallen  ourselves,  and  cannot  hurt 
thee. 

Cly.  Thiice  worthy  is  that  messenger  of  joy 
Whose  gladsome  news  shall  stop  thy  clamorous  tongue. 

Gov.  My  task  performed,  permit  me  to  retire. 

Cly.  No,  stranger,  that  were  an  aftront  to  thee, 
And  to  our  friend  who  sent  thee  here.     Go  in, 
And  leave  that  noisy  wretch  to  bellow  forth 
Her  sorrows,  and  bewail  her  lost  Orestes.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  III. 
Electra,  Chorus. 


Elec.    Miu-ked  ye,  my  friends,  did  ye  observe  her 

tears  ? 
Did  she  lament  him  ?  Did  the  mother  weep 
For  her  lost  child  ?     Oh,  no ;  she  smiled  and  left  me. 
Wretched  Electra  I     O  my  dear  Orestes  ! 
Thou  hast  undone  me ;  thou  wert  all  my  hope  : 
I  thought  thou  wouldst  have  lived  to  aid  my  vengeance 
For  our  loved  father's  death ;  deprived  of  both 
Whither  shall  I  betake  me  'i     Left  at  last 
A  slave  to  those  whom  most  on  earth  I  hate, 
The  cruel  murderers — must  it  then  be  so  ? 
Never,  oh  never  !  Thus  bereft  of  all. 
Here  will  I  lay  me  down,  and  on  this  spot 
End  my  sad  days.     If  it  offend  the  t}Tants, 
Let  'em  destroy  me — 'twill  be  kindly  done. 
Life  is  a  pain  ;  I  would  not  wish  to  keep  it. 

Chor.  Where  is  thy  thunder,  Jove  ?  or  where  thy 

power, 
O  Phcebus  !  if  thou  dost  behold  this' deed 
And  not  avenge  it  ? 


Elec. 
CnoR. 
Elec. 
Chor. 
Elec. 
Chor 


Oh 


Alas 


Why  mournst  thou  thus  ? 


Oh  !  do  not  gi'oan  thus. 


How  have  I  huit  thee  ? 


Thou  destroyst  me. 


ELECTRA.  75 

Elec.  Why  thus  vainly  try 

To  give  me  comfort,  when  I  know  he's  dead  ? 
You  but  insult  my  woes. 

Chor.                              Yet  weep  not  thus. 
Think  on  the  golden  bracelet  that  betrayed 
Amphiaraus,  who  now 

Elec.  Oh  me  ! 

Chor.  In  bliss 

Immortal  reigns  among  the  shades  below. 

Elec.  Alas  ! 

Chor.  No  more ;  a  woman  was  the  cause, 

Th'  accursed  cause. 

Eleo.  She  suffered,  did  she  not  ? 

Chor.  She  did  ;  she  perished. 

Elec.  Yes,  I  know  it  v/ell ; 

He  found  a  kind  avenger  of  his  wrongs. 
But  I  have  none,  for  he  is  ravished  from  me. 

Chor.  Thou  art  indeed  unhappy. 

Elec.  'Tis  too  true. 

I  am  most  wretched,  it  beats  hard  upon  me ; 
My  sorrows  never  cease. 

Chor.  We  see  thy  woes. 

Elec.  Therefore    no    more    attempt    to    bring     me 
comfort ; 
There  is  no  hope. 

Chor.  What  sayst  thou  ? 

Elec.  There  is  none, 

None  left  for  me — my  noble  brother  slain  ! 

Chor.  Death  is  the  lot  of  human  race. 

Elec.  But,  oh  ! 

Not  death  like  his — entangled  in  the  reins, 
His  mangled  body  dragged  along  the  field. 

Chor.  A  strange  unthought-of  chance. 

Elec.  And  then  to  fall 

A  wretched  stranger  in  a  foreign  land  ! 

Chor.  Oh  horrible  ! 

Elec.  No  sister  there  to  close 

His  dying  eyes,  to  grace  him  with  a  tomb, 
Or  pay  the  last  sad  tributary  tear. 


76  ELECTRA, 

ACT    III. 

Scene  T. 
OnRYSOTiiEMis,  Electra,  Chorus. 

Chrysotitemis.   Forgive  me,  sister,  if  my  hasty  steps 
Press  nnexpeotofl  on  thee ;  but  I  come 
With  joyful  tidings,  to  relieve  thy  toils, 
And  make  thee  happy. 

Elec.  What  canst  thou  have  found 

To  soften  ills  that  will  admit  no  cure? 

Chry.  Orestes  is  arrived ;  as  sure  as  here 
I  stand  before  thee,  the  dear  youth  is  come. 

Elec.  Canst  thou  then  make  a  mockery  of  my  woes ; 
Or  dost  thou  rave  ? 

CiiRY.  No,  by  our  father's  gods, 

I  do  not  mean  to  scoff;  but  he  is  come. 

Elec.  Alas  !  who  told  thee  so  ?    What  tongue  deceived 
Thy  credulous  ear  ? 

Chry.  Know,  from  myself  alone 

I  learned  the  truth,  and  confirmations  strong 
Oblige  me  to  believe  it. 

Elec.  What  firm  proof 

Canst  thou  produce  %  What  hast  thou  seen  or  known 
To  raise  such  flattering  hopes  ? 

Chry.  Oh  !  by  the  gods, 

I  beg  thee  but  to  hear  me,  then  approve 
Or  blame,  impartial. 

Elec.  If  to  tell  thy  tale 

Can  give  thee  pleasure,  say  it ;  I  attend. 

Chry.  Know,  then,  that  soon  as  to  our  father's  tomb 
Eager  I  came,  my  wondering  eyes  beheld 
Down  from  its  side  a  milky  fountain  flow, 
As  lately  poured  by  some  benignant  hand ; 
With  various  flowers  the  sacred  spot  adorned 
Increased  my  doubts  :  on  every  side  I  looked 
And  listened  long  impatient  for  the  tread 


ELECTRA,  77 

Of  human  footsteps  there ;  but  all  was  peace. 
Fearless  approaching  then  the  hallowed  spot, 
I  saw  it  spread  with  fresh  devoted  hair ; 
Instant  my  soul  recalled  its  dearest  hope, 
Nor  doubted  whence  the  pious  offerings  came ; 
I  snatched  them  up  and  silent  gazed,  while  joy 
Sprang  in  my  heart,  and  filled  my  eyes  with  tears — 
They  were,  they  must  be  his  ;  ourselves  alone 
Excepted,  who  could  bring  them  %  'twas  not  I, 
And  'tis  not  given  to  thee  to  leave  these  walls 
E'en  for  the  gods  :  our  mother  scarce  would  do 
So  good  an  office ;  or  e'en  grant  she  might. 
We  must  have  known  it  soon.     Be  confident, 
It  was  Orestes  ^\en.     Rejoice,  Electra, 
Sister,  rejoice  !  Whe  same  destructive  power 
Doth  not  for  ever  rule.^/ Behold  at  last 
A  milder  god,  and  happier  days  appear ! 

Elec.  Madness  and  folly  !  How  I  pity  thee  ! 
Chry.  Have  I  not  brought  most  joyful  tidings  to 

thee? 
Elec.  Alas  !     Thou  knowst  not  where  nor  what  thou 

art? 
Chry.  ISTot  know  it  %     Not  believe  what  I  have  seen  % 
Elec.  I  tell  thee,  wretched  as  thou  art,  he 's  dead ; 
He  and  thy  hoped-for  bliss  are  gone  together. 
Thou  must  not  think  of  it. 

Chry.  A  wretch  indeed 

I  am,  if  this  be  so ;  but  oh  !  from  whom. 
Where  didst  thou  learn  the  fatal  news  % 

Elec.  From  one 

Who  was  a  witness  of  his  death. 

Chry.  Where  is  he  % 

Amazement  chills  my  soul. 

Elec.  He  is  within ; 

And  no  unwelcome  guest  to  Clytemnestra. 

Chry.  Alas  !  who  then  could  bring  those  pious  gifts  % 
Elec.  Some  friend  of  lost  Orestes  placed  them  there. 
Chry    I  flew  with  joy  to  tell  thee  better  news, 
And  little  thought  to  hear  so  sad  a  tale. 
The  griefs  I  came  to  cure  are  present  still, 
And  a  new  weight  of  woes  is  come  upon  us. 


ELECTRA. 


Elec.  But  know,  my  sister,  all  may  yet  be  well. 
If  thou  wilt  hear  me. 

Chuv.  Can  J  raise  the  dead  ? 

Elf.c.  I  am  not  mad  that  1  should  ask  it  of  thee 

Chry,  What  wouldst  thou  have  me  do  ? 

Elf/'.  I'd  have  thee  act 

As  1  shall  dictate  to  thee. 

Chry.  If  aught  good 

It  may  produce,  I  do  consent. 

Elec.  Remember 

That  if  we  hope  to  prosper,  we  must  bear ; 
Success  in  all  that's  human  must  depend 
On  patience  and  on  toil. 

Chry.  I  know  it  well, 

And  stand  resolved  to  bear  my  part  in  all. 

Elec.  Hear  then  the  solemn  purpoi-t  of  my  soul. 
Tliou  knowst  too  well  how  friendless  and  forlorn 
We  both  are  left,  by  death  bereaved  of  all 
Who  could  support  us.     Whilst  Orestes  lived, 
I  cherished  flattering  thoughts  of  sweet  revenge ; 
But  he  is  gone,  and  thou  ai-t  now  my  hope. 
Yes,  thou  must  join  (for  I  will  tell  thee  all) 
With  thy  Electra  to  destroy  ^gisthus — 
To  kill  the  murderer.     Why  should  we  delay  ? 
Is  aught  of  comfort  left  ?     Thou  canst  but  weep 
Thy  ravished  foi-tunes  torn  unjustly  from  thee ; 
Thou  canst  but  mourn  thy  loss  of  nuptial  rites, 
And  each  domestic  bliss.     For,  0  my  sister ! 
The  tyrant  cannot  be  so  weak  of  soul 
As  e'er  to  suffer  our  detested  race 
To  send  new  branches  forth  for  his  destruction. 
Assist  me  then.     So  shalt  thou  best  deserve 
A  father's  praises  and  a  brother's  love ; 
So  shalt  thou  still,  as  thou  wert  born,  be  free, 
And  gain  a  partner  worthy  of  thy  bed. 
Dost  thou  not  hear  th'  applauding  voice  of  fame, 
And  every  tongue  conspire  to  praise  the  deed  ? 
Will  they  not  mark  us  as  we  pass  along, 
And  cry  aloud,  *'  Behold  the  noble  pair  ! 
The  pious  sisters  who  preserved  their  race, 
Whose  daring  souls,  unawed  by  danger,  sought 


ELECTRA,  79 

The  tyrant's  life,  regardless  of  their  own. 
What  love  to  these,  what  reverence  is  due  ! 
These  shall  th'  assembled  nation  throng  to  praise, 
And  every  feast  with  public  honours  crown. 
The  fit  reward  of  more  than  female  virtue." 
Thus  will  they  talk,  my  sister,  whilst  we  live, 
And  after  death  our  names  sliall  be  immortal. 
Aid  then  a  brother's,  aid  a  sister's  cause. 
Think  on  thy  father's  wrongs,  preserve  Electra, 
Preserve  thyself ;  and,  oh  !  remember  well 
That  to  the  noble  mind  a  life  dishonoured 
Is  infamy  and  shame. 

Chor.  Be  prudence  now 

The  guide  of  both. 

Chry.  Her  mind  was  sure  disturbed. 

My  friends,  or  she  would  ne'er  have  talked  so  wildly. 
Tell  me,  I  beg  thee  tell  me,  my  Electra, 
How  couldst  thou  think  so  rash  an  enterprise 
Could  e'er  succeed,  or  how  request  my  aid  ? 
Hast  thou  considered  what  thou  art  %  )A  woman,    | 
Weak  and  defenceless^ to  thy  foes  unequal. 
Fortune  thou  seest  each  hour  flows  in  upon  them, 
Nor  deigns  to  look  on  us.     What  hand  shall  deal 
The  fatal  blow  and  pass  unpunished  for  it  ? 
Take  heed,  my  sistei",  lest,  thy  counsel  heard, 
A  heavier  fate  than  what  we  now  lament 
Fall  on  us  both.     What  will  our  boasted  fame 
Avail  us  then  %     It  is  not  death  alone 
We  have  to  fear — to  die  is  not  the  worst 
Of  human  ills  ;  it  is  to  wish  for  death 
And  be  refused  the  boon.     Consider  well, 
Ere  we  destroy  ourselves  and  all  our  race. 
Be  patient,  dear  Electra ;  for  thy  words, 
As  they  had  ne'er  been  uttered,  here  they  rest ; 
Learn  to  be  wise  at  last,  and  when  thou  knowst 
I  Resistance  vain,  submit  to  powers  superior. 

Chor.    Submit,  convinced  that  prudence  is  the 
first 
Of  human  blessings. 

Elec.  'Tis  as  I  expected  ; 

X  knew  full  well  thou  wouldst  reject  my  counsel. 


But  I  can  act  alone ;  nor  shall  this  arm 

Shrink  at  the  blow,  or  leave  its  work  unfinished. 

Chry.  Would  thou  hadst  siiown  this  so  uiuch  Vimnted 
prowess 
When  our  loved  father  died  ! 

Elec.  I  was  the  same 

By  nature  then,  but  of  a  weaker  mind. 

Chry.  Be  sure  thy  courage  fail  thee  not  hereafter. 

Elec.  Thy  aid  will  ne'er  increase  it. 

Chry.  'Twill  be  wanted ; 

For  those  who  act  thus  rashly  must  expect 
The  fate  they  merit. 

Elec.  I  admii-e  thy  prudence, 

But  I  detest  thy  cowardice. 

Chry.  I  hear  thee 

With  patience  ;  for  the  time  must  one  day  come 
When  thou  shalt  praise  me. 

Elec.  Never. 

Chry.  Be  that  left 

For  time  to  judge ;  enough  remains. 

Elec.  Away ! 

There's  no  dependence  on  thee. 

Chry.  But  there  is, 

Hadst  thou  a  mind  disposed  for  its  acceptance. 

Elec.  Go,  tell  thy  mother  all. 

Chry.  I  am  not  yet 

So  much  thy  enemy. 

Elec.  And  yet  would  lead  me 

To  infamy. 

Chry  To  safety  and  to  wisdom. 

Elec.  Must  I  then  judge  as  thy  superior  reason 
May  dictate  to  me  ? 

Chry.  When  thy  better  mind 

Shall  come,  I'll  not  refuse  to  follow  thee. 

Elec.  Pity  who  talks  so  well  should  act  so  poorly ! 

Chry.  That  censure  falls  on  thee. 

Elec.  What  I  have  said 

Is  truth. 

Chry.      Truth,  sister,  may  be  dangerous. 

Elec.  Bather  than  thus  submit  I  will  not  live. 

Chry.  Hereafter  thou  wilt  praise  me. 


ELECTRA.  8r 

Elec.  shall  act 

As  seems  most  fit,  nor  wait  for  thy  direction. 

Chry.  Art  thou  resolved  then  ?    Wilt  thou  not  repent 
And  take  my  counsel  ? 

Elec.  Counsel  such  as  thine 

Is  of  all  ills  the  worst. 

Chry.  Because,  Electra, 

Thou  dost  not  seem  to  understand  it. 

Elec.  Know  then, 

That  long  ere  this  I  had  determined  all. 

Chry.  Then  fare  thee  well !     Thou  canst  not  bear  my 
words, 
Nor  I  thy  actions. 

Elec.  Go  thy  ways.     Henceforth 

I  will  not  commune  with  thee.     Nor  thy  prayers — 
No,  nor  thy  tears — should  ever  bend  me  to  it ; 
Such  idle  commerce  were  the  height  of  folly. 

Chry.  If  thou  dost  think  this  wisdom,  think  so  still ; 
But  when  destruction  comes,  thou  wilt  approve 
My  better  counsel,  and  be  wise  too  late.  \Exeunt.- 


Scene  II. 

Chorus. 

Strophe  i. 

Man's  ungrateful  wretched  race 
Shall  the  birds  of  heaven  disgrace. 

Whose  ever-watchful,  ever-pious  young 

Protect  the  feeble  parent  whence  they  sprung  ? 
But  if  the  blast  of  angry  Jove 
Hath  power  to  strike,  or  justice  reigns  above, 

Not  long  unpunished  shall  such  crimes  remain ; 
When  thou,  O  Fame  !  the  messenger  of  woe, 
Shalt  bear  these  tidings  to  the  realms  below, 

Tidings  to  Grecia's  chiefs  of  sorrow  and  of  pain. 


ELECTRA. 

Antistrophe. 

Bid  the  sad  Atridnc  mourn 

Their  house  by  cruel  faction  torn ; 
Tell  em,  no  longer,  by  afl'ection  joined, 
The  tender  sisters  bear  a  friendly  mind  ; 

The  poor  Electra  now  alone, 

]\laking  her  fruitless  solitary  moan, 
Lil^e  Philomela,  weeps  her  father's  fate  ; 

Fearless  of  death  and  every  human  ill, 

Eesohed  her  steady  vengeance  to  fultil — 
Was  ever  cliild  so  good,  or  piety  so  great ! 

Strophe  2. 

Still  are  the  virtuous  and  the  good 

By  adverse  fortune  unsubdued. 
Nor  e'er  will  stoop  to  infamy  and  shame ; 

Thus  Electra  dauntless  rose 

The  war  to  wage  with  virtue's  foes, 
To  gain  the  meed  of  never-ending  fame, 

Antistrojyhe  2. 

Far,  far  above  thine  enemies. 

In  power  and  splendour  mayst  thou  rise, 
And  future  bliss  compensate  present  woe  ! 

For  thou  hast  shown  thy  pious  love, 

By  all  that's  dear  to  heaven  above, 
Or  sacred  held  by  mortals  here  below.  [^Exeunt. 


ACT    IV. 

Scene  J. 
Orestes,  Pi  lades  {with  Attendant),  Electra,  Chorus. 

Orestes.  Say,  virgins,  if  by  right  instruction  led 

This  way,  I  tend  to 

Chor.  Whither  wouldst  thou  <?o  ? 


ELECTRA.  %2> 

Ores.  The  palace  of  ^gisthus. 

Chor.  Sti'iinger,  well 

Wert  thou  directed ;  thou  art  there  already. 

Ores,  Who  then  amongst  your  train  shall  Idndly 
speak 
A  friend's  approach,  who  comes  with  joyful  news 
Of  highest  import  % 

Chor.  {jpointing  to  Electra].  Be  that  office  hers 
Whom  bound  by  Nature's  ties  it  best  befits. 

Ores.  Go  then,  and  say  from  Phocis  are  arrived 
Who  beg  admittance  to  the  king. 

Eleo.  Alas ! 

And  com'st  thou  then  to  prove  the  dreadful  tale 
Already  told  ? 

Ores.  What  you  have  heard  I  know  not, 

But  of  Orestes  came  I  here  to  speak 
By  Strophius's  command. 

Elec.  What  is  it,  say ; 

Oh,  how  I  dread  thy  message  ! 

Ores,  [showing  the  l^rn].         Here  behold 
His  poor  remains 

Elec.  0  lost,  undone  Electra  ! 

'Tis  then  too  plain,  and  misery  is  complete. 

Ores.  If  for  Orestes  thus  thy  sorrows  flow, 
Know  that  within  this  urn  his  ashes  lie. 

Elec.  Do  they  indeed  ?     Then  let  me,  by  the  gods 
1  do  entreat  thee,  let  me  snatch  them  from  thee  ! 
Let  me  embrace  them — let  me  weep  my  fate, 
And  mourn  our  hapless  race. 

Ores.  Give  her  the  urn, 

Whoe'er  she  be ;  for  not  with  hostile  mind 
She  craves  the  boon ;  perhaps  some  friend,  perhaps 
By  blood  united. 

Elec.  [taking  the  Urn].  0  ye  dear  remains 
Of  my  Orestes,  the  most  loved  of  men ! 
How  do  I  see  thee  now !     How  much  unlike 
What  my  fond  hopes  presaged,  when  List  we  parted  l 
I  sent  thee  forth  with  all  the  bloom  of  youth 
Fresh  on  thy  cheek,  and  now,  0  dismal  change  ! 
I  bear  thee  in  these  hands  an  empty  shade. 
Would  I  had  died  ere  X  had  sent  thee  hence, 


84 


ELECTRA. 


Ere  I  had  saved  tliee  from  the  tyrant's  hand  ! 

Would  thou  liadst  died  thyself  that  dreadful  day, 

And  joined  thy  murdered  father  in  the  tomb, 

Rather  than  thus  a  wretched  exile  fallen, 

Far  from  thy  sister,  in  a  foreign  land  I 

I  was  not  there  with  pious  hands  to  wash 

Thy  breathless  corpse,  or  from  the  greedy  flame 

To  gather  up  thy  ashes.     What  have  all 

My  pleasing  toils,  my  fruitless  cares  availed, 

E'en  from  thy  infant  years,  that  as  a  mother 

I  watched  thee  still,  and  as  a  mother  loved  ? 

I  would  not  trust  thee  to  a  servant's  hand. 

But  was  myself  the  guardian  of  thy  youth, 

Thy  dear  companion.     All  is  gone  with  thee ! 

Alas  !  thy  death,  like  the  devouring  storm, 

Hath  borne  down  all.     Thy  father  is  no  more, 

And  thou  art  gone,  and  I  am  going  too. 

Our  foes  rejoice.     Our  mother,  mad  with  joy, 

Smiles  at  our  miseries —  that  unnatural  mother, 

She  whom  thou  oft  hast  promised  to  destroy. 

But  cruel  fate  hath  blasted  all  my  hopes, 

And  for  my  dear  Orestes  left  me  naught 

But  this  poor  shadow.    Oh  !  th'  accursed  place 

Where  I  had  sent  thee  !     Oh  !  my  hapless  brother, 

Thou  hast  destroyed  Electra.     Take  me  then — 

Oh  !  take  me  to  thee  !     Let  this  urn  enclose 

My  ashes  too,  and  dust  to  dust  be  joined, 

That  we  may  dwell  together  once  again  : 

In  life  united  by  one  hapless  fate, 

I  would  not  wish  in  death  to  be  divided. 

The  dead  are  free  from  sorrows. 

Chor.  Fair  Electra ! 

Do  not  indulge  thy  griefs ;  but,  oh  !  remember, 
Sprung  from  a  mortal  like  thyself,  Orestes 
Was  mortal  too — that  we  are  mortal  all. 

Ores.  \a8ide\.  What  shall  1  say  ?     I  can  refrain  no 
longer. 

Elec.  Why  this  emotion? 

Ores.  \looMng  at  Electra].  Can  it  be  Electra, 
That  lovely  form  ? 

Elec.  It  is  indeed  that  wretch. 


ELECTRA,  85 

Ores.  Oh,  dreadful ! 

Elec.  Stranger,  dost  thou  weep  for  me  % 

Ores.  By  impious  hands  to  perish  thus  ! 

Elec.  For  me 

Doubtless  thou  weepst,  for  I  am  changed  indeed. 

Ores.  Of  nuptial  rites,  and  each  domestic  joy 
To  live  deprived  ! 

Elec.  Why  dost  thou  gaze  upon  me  % 

Ores.  Alas  !  I  did  not  know  I  was  so  wretched. 

Elec.  Why,  what  hath  made  thee  so  ? 

Ores.  I  see  thy  woes. 

Elec.  Not  half  of  them. 

Ores.  Can  there  be  worse  than  these  ? 

Elec.  To  live  with  murderers  ! 

Ores.  What  murderers,  whom  % 

Elec.  The  murderers  of  my  father ;  bound  to  serve 
them. 

Ores.  Who  binds  thee  ? 

Elec.  One  who  calls  herself  a  mother; 

A  name  she  little  merits. 

Ores.  But  say,  how  ] 

Doth  she  withhold  the  means  of  life,  or  act 
With  brutal  violence  to  thee  % 

Elec.  Both,  alas ! 

Are  my  hard  lot ;  she  tries  a  thousand  means 
To  make  me  wretched. 

Ores.  And  will  none  assist, 

Will  none  defend  thee  ? 

Elec.  None.     My  only  hope 

Lies  buried  there. 

Ores.  Oh  !  how  I  pity  thee  ! 

Elec.  'Tis  kindly  done ;  for  none  will  pity  me — 
None  but  thyself.    Art  thou  indeed  a  stranger, 
Or  doth  some  nearer  tie  unite  our  sorrows  % 

Ores.    I  could  unfold  a  tale.    But — say,  these 
virgins. 
May  I  depend  on  them  % 

Elec.  They  are  our  friends, 

And  faithful  all. 

Ores.  Then  lay  the  urn  aside, 

And  I^vvill  tell  thee. 


sr, 


Elec'.  Do  not  take  it  from  me 

Do  not,  dear  stranger. 

Ores.  But  I  must  indeed. 

Elec.  Do  not,  T  beg  thee. 

Ores.  Come,  you'll  not  repent  it. 

Elec.  O  my  poor  brother  !     If  thy  dear  remains 
Are  wrest-ed  from  me,  I  am  most  unhappy. 

Ores.  No  more  ;  fh<m  innst  not  griove  for  him. 

Eleo.  Not  grieve 

For  my  Orestes  ? 

Ores.  No  ;  you  should  not  weep. 

Elec.  Am  I  unwortliy  of  him  then  1 

Ores.  Oh,  no ! 

But  do  not  grieve. 

Elec.  Not  when  I  bear  the  ashes 

Of  my  dear  brother  1 

Ores.  But  they  are  not  tliere 

"Unless  by  fiction  and  a  well-wrought  tale, 
That  hath  deceived  thee. 

Elec.  Where  then  is  his  tomb? 

Ores.  The  li\dng  need  none. 

Elec.  Ha  !  what  sayst  thou  1 

Ores.  '  Truth. 

Elec.  Does  he  then  live  1 

Ores.  If  I  have  life,  he  lives. 

Elec.  And  art  thou  he  1 

Ores.  Look  here,  and  be  convinced  ; 

'i  his  mark,  'tis  from  our  father. 

Elec.  0  blest  hour  ! 

Ores.  Blessed  indeed  ! 

Elec.  Art  thou  then  here  1 

Ores.  I  am. 

Elec.  Do  I  embrace  thee  ? 

Ores.  Mayst  thou  do  it  long  ! 

Elec.  0  my  companions !  0  my  dearest  friends  ! 
Do  ye  not  see  Orestes,  once  by  art 
And  cruel  fiction  torn  from  life  and  me, 
But  now  by  better  art  to  life  restored  1 

Chor.  Daughter,  we  do ;  and  see  'midst  all  our 
woes 
From  every  eye  fa,st  flow  the  tears  of  jo.y. 


ELECTRA.  87 

Elec.  Oh !  ye  are  come,  my  friends,  in  happiest  hour, 
E'en  to  behold,  to  find  again  the  man 
Whom  your  souls  wished  for,  ye  are  come. 

Chor.  We  are ; 

But  oh !  in  silence  hide  thy  joys,  Electra. 

Elec.  Wherefore  in  silence  ? 

Chor.  Lest  our  foes  within 

Should  hear  thee. 

Elec.  Never,  by  the  virgin  power 

Of  chaste  Diana,  will  I  hide  my  joys, 
Nor  meanly  stoop  to  fear  an  idle  throng 
Of  helpless  women. 

Ores,  Women  have  their  power, 

And  that  thou  knowest. 

Elec.  Alas  !  and  so  I  do  ; 

For  oh  !  thou  hast  called  back  the  sad  remembrance 
Of  that  misfortune  which  admits  no  cure, 
And  ne'er  can  be  forgot. 

Ores.  A  fitter  time 

May  come  when  we  must  think  of  that. 

Elec.  All  times. 

All  hours  are  fit  to  talk  of  justice  in, 
And  best  the  present,  now  when  I  am  free. 

Ores.  Thou  art  so,  be  so  still. 

Elec.  What's  to  be  done  % 

Ores.  Talk  not,  when  prudence  should  restrain  tliy 
tongue. 

Elec.  Who  shall  restrain  it  %    Who  shall  bind  Electra 
To  fearful  silence,  when  Orestes  comes  % 
When  thus  I  see  thee  here,  beyond  my  thoughts, 
Beyond  my  hopes ! 

Ores.  The  gods  have  sent  me  to  thee ; 

Xliey  bade  me  come. 

Elec.  Indeed  !     More  grateful  still 

Is  thy  return.    If  by  the  gods'  command 
Thou  cam'st,  the  gods  will  sure  protect  thee  here. 

Ores,  I  would  not  damp  thy  joys,  and  yet  I  fear- 
Lest  they  should  carry  thee  too  far. 

Elec.                                                  Oh,  no  ! 
But  after  so  long  absence^  thus  returned 
To  thy  afflicted  sister,  sure  thou  wouldst  not 


,S8  ELECTRA, 

Ores.  Do  what  1 

Elec.   Thou  wouldst  not  grudge  me  the  dear  pleasure 
Of  looking  on  thee. 

Ores.  No  ;  nor  suffer  any 

To  rob  thee  of  it. 

Elec.  Shall  I  then  ! 

Ores.  No  doubt. 

Elec,  I  hear  that  voice,  my  friends,  I  never  thought 
To  hear  again.    Ye  know,  when  I  received 
The  dreadful  news,  I  kept  my  grief  witliin, 
Silent  and  sad ;  but  now  I  have  thee  here. 
Now  I  behold  thee,  now  I  fix  my  eyes 
On  that  dear  form,  which  never  was  forgotten. 

Ores.  Spend  not  thy  time  in  fruitless  words,  nor  tell 
me 
How  Clytemnestra  lives,  nor  how  ^gisthus 
Hath  lavished  all  our  wealth.     The  present  hour 
Demands  our  strict  attention.     Tell  me  how, 
Whether  by  fraud,  or  open  force,  our  foes 
May  best  be  vanquished.     Let  no  cheerful  smile 
Betray  thee  to  thy  mother.     Seem  to  grieve 
As  thou  wert  wont.     When  we  have  done  the  deed, 
J  oy  shall  appear,  and  we  will  smile  in  safety. 

Elec.  Thy  will  is  mine.     Not  to  myself  I  owe 
My  present  bliss ;  I  have  it  all  from  thee — 
From  thee,  my  brother  ;  nor  should  aught  persuade  me 
To  give  Orestes  e'en  a  moment's  pain. 
That  were  ungrateful  to  th'  indulgent  power 
Who  thus  hath  smiled  propitious.     Know,  -^gisthus 
Has  left  the  palace  ;  Clytemnestra's  there ; 
And  for  thy  needless  fears  that  I  should  smile, 
Or  wear  a  cheerful  face,  I  never  shall — 
Hatred  so  strong  is  rooted  in  my  soul, 
The  sight  of  them  will  make  me  sad  enough. 
The  tears  of  joy  perhaps  may  flow  for  thee, 
And  add  to  the  deceit ;  for  flow  they  must, 
When  I  behold  thee  in  one  happy  hour 
Thus  snatched  from  life,  and  thus  to  life  restored. 
I  could  not  hope  it.     Oh  I  'tis  passing  strange  ! 
If  from  the  tomb  our  father  should  arise 
And  R.'iv  he  lived,  I  think  I  should  believe  liini : 


And  oh  !  when  thou  art  come  so  far,  'tis  fit 
I  yield  to  thee  in  all.     Do  thou  direct 
My  every  step ;  but  know,  had  I  been  left 
Alone,  e'en  I  would  not  have  failed  in  all, 
But  conquered  bravely,  or  as  bravely  fell. 

Ores.  No  more.     I  hear  the  footsteps  as  of  one 
Coming  this  way. 

Elec.  Strangers,  go  in,  and  bear 

That  which  with  joy  they  cannot  but  receive. 
But  which  with  joy  they  will  not  long  possess. 

Scene  II. 
Governor  of  Orestes,  Electra,  Orestes,  Chorus. 

Gov.  Madness  and  folly  thus  to  linger  here  ! 
Have  ye  no  thought  ?     Is  life  not  worth  your  care  ? 
Do  ye  not  know  the  dangers  that  surround  you  ? 
Had  I  not  watched  myself  before  the  palace. 
Ere  ye  had  entered,  all  your  secret  plan 
Had  been  discovered  to  our  foes  within. 
Wherefore  no  more  of  this  tumultuous  joy. 
And  lengthened  converse ;  'tis  not  fitting  now. 
Go  in  ;  away,  delays  are  dangerous 
At  such  an  hour ;  cur  fate  depends  upon  it. 

Ores.  May  I  with  safety  ?     Is  all  well  within  ? 

Gov.  None  can  suspect  you. 

Ores.  Spake  you  of  my  death 

As  we  determined  ? 

Gov.  Living  as  thou  art, 

They  do  account  thee  one  among  the  dead. 

Ores.  And  are  they  glad  ?     What  say  they  ? 

Gov.  By-and-by 

We'll  talk  of  that ;  let  it  suffice  that  all 
Is  right  within ;  and  that  which  most  they  think  so, 
May  prove  most  fatal  to  them. 

Elec.  [pointing  to  the  Governor].  Who  is  this  ? 

Ores.  Do  you  not  know  ? 

Elec.  I  cannot  recollect  him. 

Ores.  Not  know  the  man  to  whom  you  trusted  me  ! 
Under  whose  care 


ijO 


ELF.CTRA. 


Eleo.  Wlion  ?  ho^v  ? 

Ores.  To  Phocis  sent, 

I  'scaped  the  tymnt. 

Elec.  Can  it  then  be  he, 

Among  the  faithless  only  faithful  found 
When  our  dear  father  fell  ? 

Ores.  It  is  the  same. 

Elec.  \io  the  Governor].  Deax'est  of  men,  great 
guardian  of  our  race, 
Art  thou  then  here  1     Thou,  who  hast  saved  us  both 
From  countless  woes !     Swift  were  thy  feet  to  bring 
Glad  tidings  to  me,  and  thy  hand  stretched  forth 
Its  welcome  succour.     But,  oh  !  why  deceive  me  1 
Why  wouldst  thou  kill  me  with  thy  dreadful  tiilo, 
E'en  when  thou  hadst  such  happiness  in  store? 
Hail !  father,  hail ! — for  I  must  caU  thee  so — 
Know,  thou  hast  been  to  me,  in  one  short  day, 
Both  the  most  hated  and  most  loved  of  men. 

Gov.  ISTo  more  of  that      We  shall  have  time  enough 
To  talk  of  it  hereafter.     Let  us  go. 
This  is  the  hour ;  the  queen  is  now  alone. 
And  not  a  man  within.     If  ye  delay, 
Expect  to  meet  more  formidable  foes, 
In  wisdom  and  in  numbers  far  superior. 

Ores.  We  will  not  talk,  my  Pylades,  but  act. 
Let  us  go  in.     But  to  the  gods  who  guard 
This  place  be  first  due  adoration  paid. 

Elec.  Hear,  then,  Apollo,  great  Lycnean,  hear 
Their  humble  prayer  !     Oh  !  hear  Electra  too. 
Who  with  unsparing  hand  her  choicest  gifts 
Hath  never  failed  to  lay  before  thy  altars  ! 
Accept  the  little  all  which  now  remains 
For  me  to  give,  accept  my  humblest  prayers, 
My  vows,  my  adorations ;  smile  propitious 
On  all  our  counsels  !     Oh !  assist  us  now, 
And  show  mankind  what  punishment  remains 
For  guilty  mortals  from  ofiended  Heaven.  [Exeunt. 


ELECTRA.  91 

Chorus. 

StroiJhe. 

JJehokl,  lie  comes !  the  slaugliter-beariiig  god 
Mars,  ever  thirsting  for  the  murderer's  blood ; 

And  see  !  the  dogs  of  war  are  close  behind  ; 
Naught  can  escape  their  all-devouring  rage. 
This  did  my  conscious  heart  long  since  pi'esage, 

And  the  fair  dream  that  struck  my  raptured  mind. 

Antistrojjhe. 

Th'  avenger  steals  along  with  silent  feet, 
And  sharpened  sword,  to  his  paternal  seat, 

His  injured  father's  wrongs  to  vindicate ; 
Concealed  from  all  by  Maia's  fraudful  son, 
Who  safe  conducts  him  till  the  deed  be  done, 

Nor  longer  will  delay  the  needful  work  of  fate. 

[Exeunt 


ACT    V. 

Scene  I. 
Electra,  Chorus. 


Plectra.  0  my  dear  friends  I  they  are  about  it  now. 
The  deed  is  doing.     But  be  still. 

Chor.  What  deed  ? 

How  %  where  ? 

Elec.  She  doth  prepare  the  funeral  banquet ; 

But  they  are  not  far  from  her. 

Chor.  Why  then  leave  them  1 

Elec.  To  watch  JEgisthus,  lest  he  steal  upon  iis 
And  blast  our  purpose. 

Cly.  \heMnd  tlie  scenes].  Oh  !  I  am  betrayed  ! 
My  palace  full  of  murderei's ;  not  a  friend 
Left  to  protect  me. 


92  ELECTRA. 

Elec.  Some  one  aies  within  ; 

Did  you  not  hear  ? 

Chor.  It  is  too  horrible 

5'\)r  mortal  ear ;  I  tremble  at  the  sound. 

Cly.  [wi</iw].  ^gisthus,  oh!  where  art  thou ? 

Elec.  Hark  1  again 

The  voice,  and  louder. 

Cly.  \\oithiix\.  0  my  child  !  my  child  ! 

Pity  thy  mother,  pity  her  who  bore  thee  ! 

Elec.  Be  thine  the  pity  which  thou  showedst  to  him, 
And  to  his  father. 

Chor.  O  unhappy  kingdom  ! 

O  wretched  race  !  thy  misery  is  full ; 
This  day  will  finish  all. 

Cly.  \witUin\.  Oh  !  I  am  wounded !  | 

Elec.   Another  stroke — another,  if  thou  canst ! 

Cly.  Ah  me  !  again  ! 

Elec.  Oh  !  that  ^gisthus  too 

Groaned  with  thee  now  ! 

Chor.  Then  vengeance  is  complete. 

The  dead  arise  and  shed  their  murderers'  blood 
In  copious  streams. 

Scene  II. 

Orestes,  Pylades,  Governor  of  Orestes,  Electra, 
Chorus. 

Elec.  Behold  them  here  !  their  hands 
Dropping  with  gore,  a  pious  sacrifice 
To  the  gi^eat  god  of  war.     How  is 't,  Orestes  ? 

Ores.  'Tis  very  well.     All 's  well,  if  there  be  truth 
In  great  ApoUo's  oracles.     She 's  dead. 
Thou  needst  not  fear  a  cruel  mother  now. 

Chor.  I^o  more !    -ZEgisthus  comes. 

Elec.  Instant  go  in  ; 

Do  you  not  see  him  %     Joyful  he  returns. 

Chor.  Ketire.     Thus  far  is  right — ^go  on,  and  prosper. 

Ores.  Fear  not !     We'll  do  it. 

Chor.  But  immediately. 

Ores.  I'm  gone. 

\FjXPAmt  Orestes,  Pylades,  and  Governor. 


ELECTRA.  93 

Elec.  For  what  remains  here  to  be  done. 


Be  it  my  care.     I'll  whisper  in  his  ear 

A  few  soft  flattering  words,  that  he  may  rush 

Unknowing  down  precipitate  on  ruin. 


Scene  III. 

^GISTHUS,  ElECTRA,  ChORUS. 

Mgi^.  Which  of  you  knows  aught  of  these  Phocian 
guests, 
Who  come  to  tell  us  of  Orestes'  death  ? 
You  first  I  ask,  Electra,  once  so  proud 
And  fierce  of  soul ;  it  doth  concern  you  most ; 
And  therefore  you,  I  think,  can  best  inform  me. 

Elec.  Yes,  I  can  tell  thee.     Is  it  possible 
I  should  not  know  it  ?    That  were  not  to  know 
A  circumstance  of  dearest  import  to  me. 

^Gis.  Where  are  they  then  % 

Elec.  Within. 

^Gis.  And  spake  they  truth  ? 

Elec.  They  did ;  a  truth  not  proved  by  words  alone, 
But  faots  undoubted. 

^Gis.  Shall  we  see  him  then  ? 

Elec.  Aye,  and  a  dreadful  sight  it  is  to  see. 

^Gis.  Thou  art  not  wont  to  give  me  so  much  joy ; 
Now  I  am  glad  indeed. 

Elec.  Glad  mayst  thou  be, 

If  aught  there  is  in  that  can  give  thee  joy. 

-<3Egis.  Silence  within  !  and  let  my  palace  gates 
Be  opened  all — that  Argos  and  Mycenae 
May  send  her  millions  forth  to  view  the  sight ; 
And  if  there  are  who  nourish  idle  hopes 
That  still  Orestes  lives,  behold  him  here, 
And  learn  submission,  nor  inflame  the  crowd 
Against  their  lawful  sovereign,  lest  they  feel 
An  angry  monarch's  heaviest  vengeance  on  them. 

Elec.  Already  I  have  learned  the  task,  and  yield 
To  power  superior. 


04 


Scene  IV. 

Opens  and  discovers  tlie  Body  of  Clytemxest BA  extended 
on  a  biei'f  and  covered  'with  a  veil. 

Orestes,  Pylades,  Governor  of  Orestes,  Mgistr-jb, 
Electra,  Chorus,  and  a  Croivd  of  Spectators  frani 
the  city. 

Miiia.  What  a  sight  is  here ' 

O  deity  supreme  !  this  could  not  be 
But  by  thy  will ;  and  whether  Nemesis 
Shall  still  o'ertake  me  for  my  crime,  I  know  not. 
Take  otF  the  veil,  that  I  may  view  him  well ; 
He  was  by  blood  allied,  and  therefore  claims 
Our  decent  sorrows. 

Ores.  Take  it  off  thyself  ! 

'Tis  not  my  office  ;  thee  it  best  behts 
To  see  and  to  lament. 

JEgis.  And  so  it  does ; 

And  I  will  do  it.     Send  Clytemnestra  hither. 

[Taking  of  the  ve^a 

Ores.  She  is  before  thee. 

^Gis.  Ha !  what  do  I  see  1 

Ores.  Why,  what 's  the  matter  ?    What  affrights  th@C 
so? 
Do  you  not  see  him  ? 

^Gis.  In  what  dreadful  snare 

Am  I  then  fallen  ] 

Ores.  Dost  thou  not  now  behold 

That  thou  art  talking  with  the  dead  ? 

u:Egis.  Alas  I 

Too  well  I  see  it,  and  thou  art — Orestes. 

Ores.  So  great  a  prophet  thou,  and  guess  so  iil ! 

^Gis.  I  know  that  I  am  lost,  undone  for  evor; 
But  let  me  speak  to  thee. 

Elec.  Do  not,  Orestes ; 

No,  not  a  woi'd.     What  can  a  moment's  spaoo 
Profit  a  wretch  like  him,  to  death  devoted'^ 
Qijck  }et  him  die,  and  cast  his  carcase  forth 


ELECTRA. 


95 


To  dogs  and  vultures  ;  tliey  will  best  perform 
Fit  obsequies  for  him.     By  this  alone 
We  can  be  free  and  htappy. 

Ores.  Get  thee  in  ! 

This  is  no  time  for  talk — thy  life,  thy  life  ! 

^'Egis.  But  why  go  in  ?     If  what  thou  meanst  to  do 
Be  just,  what  need  of  darkness  to  conceal  it  ? 
Why  not  destroy  me  here  ? 

Ores.  It  is  not  thine 

Now  to  command.     Hence  to  the  fatal  place 
Where  our  dear  father  fell,  and  perish  there. 

^Gis.  This  palace  then  is  doomed  to  be  the  witness 
Of  all  the  present,  all  the  future  woes 
Of  Pelops'  hapless  race. 

Ores.  Of  thine,  at  least 

It  shall  be  witness  ;  that 's  my  prophecy. 
And  a  most  true  one. 

^Gis.  'Tig  not  from  thy  father. 

Ores.  Thou  talkst,  and  time  is  lost.     Away ! 

^Gis.  I  follow. 

Ores.  Thou  shalt  go  first. 

^Gis.  Thinkst  thou  I  mean  to  fly  ? 

Ores.  No ;  but  I'd  make  thy  end  most  bitter  to  thee 
In  every  circumstance,  nor  let  thee  choose 
The  softest  means.     Were  all  like  thee  to  perish 
Who  violate  the  laws,  'twould  lessen  much    ^^^^^^'^     _c-«^ 
The  guilt  of  mortals,  aiKl  reform  mankind.  \ExPAint. 

Chor.  0  race  or  Atreus  !  after  all  thy  woes, 
How  art  thou  thus  by  one  adventurous  deed 
To  freedom  and  to  happiness  restored  1 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


PlIILOCTETES. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Ulysses,  King  of  Ithaca. 
Neoptolemus,  Son  of  AcJiilles. 
Philoctetes,  Son  of  Pcean  and 

Companion  of  Hercules. 
A  Spy. 


Hercules. 

Chorus,  composed  of  the  Com- 
panions of  Ulysses  and  Neopto- 
lemus, 


SCENE. — Lemnos,  near  a  Grotto  in  a  rocJc  by  the  Seaside, 


ACT   I. 

Scene    I. 


Ulysses,  Neoptolemus,  Attendant. 

Ulysses.  At  length,  my  noble  friend,  thou  bravest  son 
Of  a  brave  father — father  of  us  all, 
The  great  Achilles — we  have  reached  the  shore 
Of  sea-girt  Lemnos,  desert  and  forlorn, 
Where  never  tread  of  human  step  is  seen. 
Or  voice  of  mortal  heard,  save  his  alone, 
Poor  Philoctetes,  Paean's  wretched  son. 
Whom  here  I  left ;  for  such  were  my  commands 
From  Grecia's  chiefs,  when  by  his  fatal  wound 
Oppressed,  his  groans  and  execrations  dreadful 
Alarmed  our  hosts,  our  sacred  rites  profaned, 
And  interrupted  holy  sacrifice. 


98 


PHILOCTETES. 


But  why  should  I  repeat  the  tale  1     The  time 
Admits  not  of  delay.     We  must  not  linger. 
Lest  he  discover  our  arrival  here, 
And  all  our  purposed  fraud  to  draw  him  hence 
Be  ineffectual.     Lend  me  then  thy  aid. 
Surv'eying  round  thee,  canst  thou  see  a  rock 
With  double  entrance — to  the  sun's  warm  rays 
In  winter  open,  and  in  summer's  heat 
Giving  free  pasj^age  to  the  welcome  breeze  ? 
A  little  to  the  left  there  is  a  fountain 
Of  li\-ing  water,  where,  if  yet  he  breathes. 
He  slakes  his  thirst.     If  aught  thou  seest  of  this 
Inform  me  \  so  shall  each  to  each  impart 
Council  mast  fit,  and  serve  our  common  cause. 
Ned.  ]}iaiing  Ulysses  a  little  behind  /dm].  If  I 
mistake  not,  I  behold  a  cave, 
E'en  such  as  thou  describst. 

Uly.  Dost  thou  ?  which  way  ? 

Neo.  Yonder  it  is ;  but  no  path  leading  thither, 
Or  trace  of  human  footstep. 

Uly.  In  his  cell 

A  chance  but  he  hath  lain  him  down  to  rest ; 
Look  if  he  hath  not. 

Neo.  [advancing  to  the  cave].  Not  a  creature  there. 
Uly.  Nor  food,  nor  mark  of  household  preparation  ? 
Neo.  A  rustic  bed  of  scattered  leaves. 
Uly.  What  more? 

Neo.  a  wooden  bowl,  the  work  of  some  rude  hand, 
With  a  few  sticks  for  fuel. 

Uly.  This  is  aU 

His  httle  treasure  here. 

Neo.  Unhappy  man ! 

Some  linen  for  his  wounds. 

XJly.  This  must  be  then 

His  place  of  habitation ;  far  from  hence 
He  cannot  roam  ;  distempered  as  he  is, 
It  were  impossible.     He  is  but  gone 
A  Httle  way  for  needful  food,  or  herb 
Of  power  to  'suage  and  mitigate  his  pain. 
Wherefore  despatch  this  servant  to  some  place 
Of  observation,  whence  he  may  espy 


His  every  motion,  lest  he  rush  upon  us. 
There's  not  a  Grecian  whom  his  soul  so  much 
Could  wish  to  crush  beneath  him  as  Ulysses. 

[Makes  a  signal  to  the  Attendant j  who  retires. 


Scene  II. 
Neoptolemus,   Ulysses. 

Neo.  He's  gone  to  guard  each  avenue ;  and  now, 
If  thou  hast  aught  of  moment  to  impart 
Touching  our  purpose,  say  it ;  I  attend 

Uly.  Son  of  Achilles,  mark  me  well !     Eemember, 
What  we  are  doing  not  on  strength  alone, 
Or  courage,  but  on  conduct  will  depend ; 
Therefore  if  aught  uncommon  be  proposed, 
Strange  to  thy  ears  and  adverse  to  thy  nature, 
Keflect  that  'tis  thy  duty  to  comply. 
And  act  conjunctive  with  me. 

Neo.  Well,  what  is  it  ? 

Uly.  We  must  deceive  this  Philoctet^s ;  that 
Will  be  thy  task.     When  he  shall  ask  thee  who 
And  what  thou  art,  Achilles'  son  reply — 
Thus  far  within  the  verge  of  truth,  no  more. 
Add  that  resentment  fired  thee  to  forsake 
The  Grecian  fleet,  and  seek  thy  native  soil. 
Unkindly  used  by  those  who  long  with  vows 
Had  sought  thy  aid  to  humble  haughty  Troy, 
And  when  thou  cam'st,  ungrateful  as  they  were, 
The  arms  of  great  Achilles,  thy  just  right, 
Gave  to  Ulysses.     Here  thy  bitter  taunts 
And  sharp  invectives  Uberally  bestow 
On  me.     Say  what  thou  wilt,  I  shall  forgive. 
And  Greece  will  not  forgive  thee  if  thou  dost  not ; 
For  against  Troy  thy  efibrts  are  all  vain 
Without  his  arrows.     Safely  thou  mayst  hold 
Friendship  and  converse  wdth  him,  but  I  cannot. 
Thou  wert  not  with  us  when  the  war  began, 
Nor  bound  by  solemn  oath  to  join  our  host, 

D   2 


lOO 


As  I  was  \  me  he  knows,  and  if  he  find 

That  I  am  with  thee,  we  are  both  undone.  

They  must  be  ours  then,  these  all-conquering  arms ; 
Remember  that.     I  know  thy  noble  nature 
Abhors  the  thought  of  treachery  or  fraud. 
But  what  a  glorious  prize  is  victory ! 
Therefore  be  bold  :  we  will  be  just  hereafter. 
Give  to  deceit  and  me  a  little  portion 
Of  one  short  day,  and  for  thy  future  life 
Be  called  the  holiest,  worthiest,  best  of  men. 

Ned.  What  but  to  hear  alarms  my  conscious  soul. 
Son  of  Laeites,  I  shall  never  practise. 
I  was  not  born  to  flatter  or  betray ; 
Nor  I,  nor  he — the  voice  of  fame  reports — 
Who  gave  me  birth.     What  open  arms  can  do 
Behold  me  prompt  to  act,  but  ne'er  to  fraud 
Will  I  descend.     Sure  we  can  more  than  match 
In  strength  a  foe  thus  lame  and  impotent. 
I  came  to  be  a  helpmate  to  thee,  not 
A  base  betrayer ;  and,  O  king  !   believe  me. 
Rather,  much  rather  would  I  fall  by  virtue 
Than  rise  by  guilt  to  certain  victory. 

TJly.  O  noble  youth  !  and  worthy  of  thy  sire  ! 
When  I  like  thee  was  young,  like  thee  of  strength 
And  courage  boastful,  little  did  I  deem 
Of  human  policy  ;  but  long  experience 
Hath  taught  me,  son,  'tia  not  the  powerful  arm. 
But  soft  enchanting  tongue  that  governs  all. 

Neo.  And  thou  wouldst  have  me  tell  an  odious  false- 
hood ? 

XJly.  He  must  be  gained  by  fraud. 

Neo.  By  fraud  ?     And  why 

Not  by  persuasion  % 

Uly.  He'll  not  listen  to  it ; 

And  force  were  vainer  still. 

Ned.  What  mighty  power 

Hath  he  to  boast  % 

Uly.  His  arrows  winged  with  death 

Inevitable. 

Neo.  Then  it  were  not  safe 

E'en  to  approach  him. 


PHILOCTETES.  loi 

Uly.  No  j  unless  by  fraud 

He  be  secured. 

Neo.  And  thinkst  thou  'tis  not  base 

To  tell  a  lie  then  ? 

Uly.  Not  if  on  that  lie 

Depends  our  safety. 

Neo.  Who  shall  dare  to  tell  it 

Without  a  blush  % 

Uly.  We  need  not  blush  at  aught 

That  may  promote  our  interest  and  success. 

Neo.  But  where 's  the  interest  that  should  bias  me  % 
Come  he  or  not  to  Troy,  imports  it  aught 
To  Neoptolemus  ? 

Uly.  Troy  cannot  fall 

Without  his  arrows. 

Neo.  Saidst  thou  not  that  I 

Was  destined  to  destroy  her  ? 

Uly.  Without  them 

Naught  canst  thou  do,  and  they  without  thee  nothing. 

Neo.  Then  I  must  have  them. 

Uly.  When  thou  hast,  remember 

A  double  prize  awaits  thee. 

Neo.  What,  Ulysses? 

Uly.  The  glorious  names  of  vaUant  and  of  wise. 

Neo.  Away  !     I'll  do  it.     Thoughts  of  guilt  or  shame 
No  more  appal  me. 

Uly.  Wilt  thou  do  it  then  ? 

Wilt  thou  remember  what  I  told  thee  of  ? 

Neo.  Depend  on  't  j  I  have  promised — that 's  sufficient. 

Uly.  Here  then  remain  thou  ;  I  must  not  be  seen. 
If  thou  stay  long,  I'll  send  a  faithful  spy. 
Who  in  a  sailor's  habit  well  disguised 
May  pass  unknown  ;  of  him,  from  time  to  time, 
What  best  may  suit  our  purpose  thou  shalt  know. 
I'll  to  the  ship.     Farewell !  and  may  the  god 
Who  brought  us  here,  the  fraudful  Mercury, 
And  great  Minerva,  guardian  of  our  countr}^, 
And  ever  kind  to  me,  protect  us  still !  \ExtvMt. 


102 


PHILOCTETES. 


Scene  111. 


Chorus,  Neopiolemus. 

Chok.  Master,  instruct  us,  strangers  as  we  are, 
"What  we  may  utter,  what  we  must  conceal. 
Doubtless  the  man  we  seek  \vill  entertain 
Suspicion  of  us ;  how  are  we  to  act  ? 
To  those  alone  belongs  the  art  to  rule 
W  ho  bear  the  sceptre  from  the  hand  of  Jove ; 
To  thee  of  right  devolves  the  power  supreme. 
From  thy  great  ancestors  delivered  down  \ 
Speak  then,  our  royal  lord,  and  we  obey. 

Neo.  If  you  would  penetrate  yon  deep  recess 
To  seek  the  cave  where  Philoctetes  lies, 
Go  forward  ;  but  remember  to  return 
When  the  poor  wanderer  comes  this  way,  prepared 
To  aid  our  purpose  here  if  need  require. 

Chor.  0  king  !  we  ever  meant  to  fix  our  eyes 
On  thee,  and  wait  attentive  to  thy  will ; 
But,  tell  us,  in  what  part  is  he  concealed  % 
'Tis  fit  we  know  the  place,  lest  unobserved 
He  rush  upon  us.     Which  way  doth  it  lie  % 
Seest  thou  his  footsteps  leading  from  the  cave, 
Or  hither  bent  ? 

Neo.  \advanGing  toicards  the  cave\.  Behold  the  double 
door 
Of  his  poor  dwelling,  and  the  flinty  bed. 

Chor.  And  whither  is  its  wretched  master  gone  ? 

Neo.  Doubtless  in  search  of  food,  and  not  far  of!', 
For  such  his  manner  is ;  accustomed  here. 
So  fame  reports,  to  pierce  with  winged  arrows 
His  savage  prey  for  daily  sustenance. 
His  wound  still  painful,  and  no  hope  of  cure. 

Chor.  Alas  !  1  pity  him.     Without  a  friend. 
Without  a  fellow-sufferer,  left  alone, 
Deprived  of  all  the  mutual  joys  that  flow 
From  sweet  society — distempered  too  ! 
How  can  he  bear  it  ?     0  unhappy  race 
Of  mortal  man  !  doomed  to  an  endless  round 


PHILOCTETES,  103 

Of  sorrows,  and  immeasurable  woe  ! 

Second  to  none  in  fair  nobility 

Was  Philoctetes,  of  illustrious  race  ; 

Yet  here  he  lies,  from  every  human  aid 

Far  off  removed,  in  dreadful  solitude, 

And  mingles  with  the  wild  and  savage  herd  ; 

With  them  in  famine  and  in  misery 

Consumes  his  days,  and  weeps  their  common  fate. 

Unheeded,  save  when  babbling  echo  mourns 

In  bitterest  notes  responsive  to  his  woe. 

Neo.  And  yet  I  wonder  not ;  for  if  aright 
I  judge,  from  angry  heaven  the  sentence  came, 
And  Chrysa  was  the  cruel  source  of  all ; 
Nor  doth  this  sad  disease  inflict  him  still 
Incurable,  without  assenting  gods  ] 
For  so  they  have  decreed,  lest  Troy  should  fall 
Beneath  his  arrows  ere  th'  appointed  time 
Of  its  destruction  come. 

Chor.  No  more,  my  son  ! 

Neo.  What  sayst  thou  ? 

Chor.  Sure  I  heard  a  dismal  groan 

Of  some  afflicted  wretch. 

Neo.  Which  way  ? 

Chor.  E'en  now 

I  hear  it,  and  the  sound  as  of  some  step 
Slow-moving  this  way.     He  is  not  far  from  us. 
His  plaints  are  louder  now.     Prepare,  my  son  ! 

Neo.  For  what  % 

Chor.  New  troubles ;  for  behold  he  comes  ! 

Not  like  the  shepherd  with  his  rural  pipe 
And  cheerful  song,  but  groaning  heavily. 
Either  his  wounded  foot  against  some  thorn 
Hath  struck,  and  pains  him  sorely,  or  perchance 
He  hath  espied  from  far  some  ship  attempting 
To  enter  this  inhospitable  port. 
And  hence  his  cries  to  save  it  from  destruction. 

[JSxeunt. 


104 


PHILOCTETES. 


ACT   II. 


Scene  I. 


Philoctetes,  Neoptolemus,  Chorus. 

Philoctetes.  Say,  welcome  stmngers,  what  disastrous 
fate 
Led  you  to  this  inhospitable  shore, 
Nor  haven  safe,  nor  habitation  fit 
Affording  ever  ?     Of  what  clime,  what  race  ? 
Who  are  ye  1     Speak  !     If  I  may  trust  that  garb, 
Familiar  once  to  me,  ye  are  of  Greece, 
My  much-loved  country.     Let  me  hear  the  sound 
Of  your  long  wished-for  voices.     Do  not  look 
With  horror  on  me,  but  in  kind  compassion 
Pity  a  wretch  deserted  and  forlorn 
In  this  sad  place.     Oh  !  if  ye  come  as  friends, 
Speak  then,  and  answer — hold  some  converse  with  me, 
For  this  at  least  from  man  to  man  is  due. 

Neo.  Know,  stranger,  first  what  most  thou  seemst  to 
wish; 
We  are  of  Greece. 

Phil.  Oh  !  happiness  to  hear ! 

After  so  many  years  of  dreadful  silence, 
How  welcome  was  that  sound  !     Oh  !  tell  me,  son, 
What  chance,  what  purpose,  who  conducted  thee  ? 
What  brought  thee  thither,  what  propitious  gale  ? 
Who  art  thou  ?     Tell  me  all — inform  me  quickly. 

Neo.  Native  of  Sc^ti-os,  hither  I  return ; 
My  name  is  Neoptolemus,  the  son 
Of  brave  Achilles.     I  have  told  thee  all. 

Phil.  Dear  is  thy  country,  and  thy  father  dear 
To  me,  thou  darling  of  old  Lycomede ; 
But  tell  me  in  what  fleet,  and  whence  thou  cam'st. 

Neo.  From  Troy. 

Phil.         From  Troy  ?  I  think  thou  wert  not  with  us 
When  first  our  fleet  sailed  forth. 


PHILOCTETES.  105 

Neo.  Wei-t  thou  then  there  ? 

Or  knowst  thou  aught  of  that  great  enterprise  ? 

Phil.  Know  you  not  then  the  man  whom  you  behold  ] 
Neo.  How  should  I  know  whom  I  had  never  seen  1 
Phil.  Have  you  ne'er  heard  of  me,  nor  of  my  name  ? 
Hath  my  sad  story  never  reached  your  ear  ? 

Neo.  Never. 

Phil.  Alas !  how  hateful  to  the  gods, 
How  very  poor  a  wretch  must  1  be  then, 
That  Greece  should  never  hear  of  woes  like  mine ! 
But  they  who  sent  me  hither,  they  concealed  them, 
And  smile  triumphant,  whilst  my  cruel  wounds 
Grow  deeper  still.     O,  sprung  from  great  Achilles  ! 
Behold  before  thee  Psean's  wretched  son, 
With  whom,  a  chance  but  thou  hast  heard,  remain 
The  dreadful  arrows  of  renowned  Alcides, 
E'en  the  unhappy  Philoctetes — him 
Whom  the  Atridse  and  the  vile  Ulysses 
Inhuman  left,  distempered  as  I  was 
By  the  envenomed  serpent's  deep-felt  wound. 
Soon  as  they  saw  that,  with  long  toil  oppressed. 
Sleep  had  o'ertaken  me  on  the  hollow  rock. 
There  did  they  leave  me  when  from  Chrysa's  shore 
They  bent  their  fatal  course  ;  a  little  food 
And  these  few  rags  were  all  they  would  bestow. 
Such  one  day  be  their  fate  !     Alas  !  my  son. 
How  dreadful,  thinkst  thou,  was  that  waking  to  me, 
When  from  my  sleep  I  rose  and  saw  them  not ! 
How  did  I  weep  !  and  mourn  my  wretched  state  ! 
When  not  a  ship  remained  of  all  the  fleet 
That  brought  me  here — no  kind  companion  left 
To  minister  or  needful  food  or  balm 
To  my  sad  wounds.     On  every  side  I  looked, 
And  nothing  saw  but  woe ;  of  that  indeed 
Measure  too  fuU.     For  day  succeeded  day. 
And  still  no  comfort  came ;  myself  alone 
Could  to  myself  the  means  of  life  afford, 
In  this  poor  grotto.     On  my  bow  I  lived  : 
The  winged  dove,  which  my  sharp  arrow  slew, 
With  pain  I  brought  into  my  little  hut, 
And  feasted  there  ;  then  from  the  broken  ico 


io6 


PHILOCTETES. 


1  slaked  my  thirst,  or  crept  into  the  woocl 

For  useful  fuel ;  from  the  stricken  flint 

I  drew  the  latent  spark,  that  warms  me  still 

And  still  revives.     This  with  my  humble  roof 

Preserve  me,  son.     But,  oh  !  my  wounds  remain. 

Thou  seest  an  island  desolate  and  waste ; 

No  friendly  port  nor  hopes  of  gain  to  tenjpt, 

Nor  host  to  welcome  in  the  traveller ; 

Few  seek  the  wild  inhospitable  shore. 

By  adverse  winds,  sometimes  th'  unwilling  guests, 

As  well  thou  mayst  suppose,  were  hither  driven ; 

But  when  they  came,  they  only  pitied  me. 

Gave  me  a  little  food,  or  better  garb 

To  shield  me  from  the  cold ;  in  vain  1  prayed 

That  they  would  bear  me  to  my  native  soil, 

For  none  would  listen.     Here  for  ten  long  years 

Have  1  remained,  whilst  misery  and  famine 

Keep  fresh  my  wounds,  and  double  my  misfortune. 

This  have  th'  Atridae  and  Ulysses  done. 

And  may  the  gods  with  equal  woes  repay  them  ! 

Chor.  0,  son  of  Paean  !  well  might  those,  who  came 
And  saw  thee  thus,  in  kind  compassion  weep ; 
I  too  must  pity  thee — I  can  no  more. 

Neo.  I  can  bear  witness  to  thee,  for  I  know 
By  sad  experience  what  th'  Atridae  are, 
And  what  Ulysses. 

Phil.  Hast  thou  suflfered  then  ? 

And  dost  thou  hate  them  too  ? 

Neo.  Oh !  that  these  hands 

Could  vindicate  my  wrongs  !     Mycenae  then 
And  Sparta  should  confess  that  Scyros  boasts 
Of  sons  as  brave  and  valiant  as  their  own. 

Phil.  O  noble  youth  !     But  wherefore  cam'st  thou 
hither? 
Whence  this  resentment  ? 

Neo.  I  will  tell  thee  all, 

If  I  can  bear  to  tell  it.     Know  then,  soon 
As  great  Achilles  died 

Phil.  Oh,  stay,  my  son ! 

Is  then  Achilles  dead? 

Neo.  He  is,  and  not 


PHILOCTETES,  107 

By  mortal  hand,  but  by  Apollo's  shaft 
Fell  glorious. 

Phil.  Oh  !  most  worthy  of  each  other, 

The  slayer  and  the  slain  !  Permit  me,  son, 
To  mourn  his  fate,  ere  I  attend  to  thine.  [lie  weeps. 

Neo.  Alas  !  thou  needst  not  weep  for  others'  woes, 
Thou  hast  enough  already  of  thy  own. 

Phil.  'Tis  very  true  ;  and  therefore  to  thy  tale. 
Neo.  Thus  then  it  was.     Soon  as  Achilles  died. 
Phoenix,  the  guardian  of  his  tender  years, 
Instant  sailed  forth,  and  sought  me  out  at  Scyros ; 
With  him  the  wary  chief  Ulysses  came. 
They  told  me  then  (or  true  or  false  I  know  not), 
My  father  dead,  by  me,  and  me  alone 
Proud  Troy  must  fall.     I  yielded  to  their  prayers  ; 
I  hoped  to  see  at  least  the  dear  remains 
Of  him  whom  living  I  had  long  in  vain 
Wished  to  behold.     Safe  at  Sigeum's  port 
Soon  we  arrived.     In  crowds  the  numerous  host 
Thronged  to  embrace  me,  called  the  gods  to  witness 
In  me  once  more  they  saw  their  loved  Achilles 
To  life  restored  ;  but  he,  alas  !  was  gone. 
I  shed  the  duteous  tear,  then  sought  my  friends 
Th'  Atridse — friends  I  thought  'em  ! — claimed  the  arms 
Of  my  dead  father,  and  what  else  remained 
His  late  possession  :  when — 0  cruel  words  ! 
And  wretched  I  to  hear  them — thus  they  answered : 
"  Son  of  Achilles,  thou  in  vain  demandst 
Those  arms  already  to  Ulysses  given  ; 
The  rest  be  thine."     I  wept.     "  And  is  it  thus," 
Indignant  I  replied,  "ye  dare  to  give 
My  right  away?"     "  Know,  boy,"  Ulysses  cried, 
"  That  right  was  mine,  and  therefore  they  bestowed 
The  boon  on  me  :  me  who  preserved  the  arms, 
And  him  who  bore  them  too."     With  anger  fired 
At  this  proud  speech,  I  threatened  all  that  rage 
Could  dictate  to  me  if  he  not  returned  them. 
Stung  with  my  words,  yet  calm,  he  answered  me  : 
*'  Thou  wert  not  with  us ;  thou  wert  in  a  place, 
Where  thou  shouldst  not  have  been ;  and  since  thou 
meanst 


io8 


PHILOCTETES, 


To  brave  ns  tluis,  Ivnow,  lliou  shalt  never  bear 
Those  arms  \^^th  thee  to  Scyros;  'tis  resolved." 
Thus  injured,  thus  deprived  of  all  I  held 
Most  precious,  by  the  worst  of  men,  1  left 
The  hateful  place,  and  seek  my  native  soil. 
Nor  do  1  blame  so  much  the  proud  IHysses 
As  his  base  masters — army,  city,  all 
Depend  on  those  who  rule.     When  men  grow  vile 
The  guilt  is  theirs  who  taught  them  to  be  wicked. 
I've  told  thee  all,  and  liim  who  hates  the  Atridre 
I  liold  a  friend  to  me  and  to  the  gods. 


Chorus. 
Strophe. 

O  Earth  !  thou  mother  of  great  Jove, 

Embracing  all  with  universal  love, 
Author  l^enign  of  every  good. 

Through  whom  Pactolus  rolls  his  golden  flood ! 
To  thee,  whom  in  thy  rapid  car 
Fierce  lions  draw,  I  rose  and  made  my  prayer- 
To  thee  I  made  my  sorrows  known, 
When  from  Achilles'  injured  son 

Th'  Atridse  gave  the  prize,  that  fatal  day 

When  proud  Ulysses  bore  his  arms  away. 

PniL.  I  wonder  not,  my  friend,  to  see  you  here, 
And  I  believe  the  tale ;  for  well  1  know 
The  man  who  wronged  you,  know  the  base  Ulysses 
Falsehood  and  fraud  dwell  on  his  lips,  and  nought 
That's  just  or  good  can  be  expected  from  him. 
But  strange  it  is  to  me  that,  Ajax  present, 
He  dare  attempt  it. 

Ajax  is  no  more ; 
I  had  ne'er  been  spoiled 


Neo. 
Had  he  been  living. 
Thus  of  my  right. 

Phil. 

Neo. 


Is  he  then  dead  ? 


He  is. 


Phil.  Alas  !  the  son  of  Tydeus,  .and  that  slave. 


PHTLOCTETES,  109 

Sold  by  his  father  Sisyphus,  they  live, 
Unworthy  as  they  are. 

JSTeo.  Alas  !  they  do. 

And  flourish  still. 

Phil.  My  old  and  worthy  friend 

The  Pylian  sage,  how  is  he  ?     He  could  see 
Their  arts,  and  would  have  given  them  better  counsels. 

Neo.  Weighed  down  with  grief  he  lives,  but  most 
unliappy. 
Weeps  his  lost  son,  his  dear  Antilochus. 

Phil.  O  double  woe  !  whom  I  could  most  have  wished 
To  live  and  to  be  happy,  those  to  perish  ! 
Ulysses  to  survive  !     It  should  not  be. 

Neo.  Oh  !  tis  a  subtle  foe ;  but  deepest  plans 
May  sometimes  fail. 

Phil.  Where  was  Patroclus  then, 

Thy  father's  dearest  friend  ] 

Neo.  He  too  was  dead. 

In  war,  alas — so  fate  ordains  it  ever — 
The  coward  'scapes,  the  brave  and  virtuous  fall. 

Phil.  It  is  too  true ;  and  now  thou  talkst  of  cowards. 
Where  is  that  worthless  wretch,  of  readiest  tongue, 
Subtle  and  voluble  ? 

Neo.  Ulysses  ? 

Phil.  No  ; 

Thersites ;  ever  talking,  never  heard. 

Neo.  I  have  not  seen  him,  but  I  hear  he  lives. 

Phil.  I  did  not  doubt  it :  evil  never  dies ; 
The  gods  take  care  of  that.     If  aught  there  be 
Fraudful  and  vile,  'tis  safe ;  the  good  and  just 
Perish  unpitied  by  them.     Wherefore  is  it  1 
When  gods  do  ill,  why  should  we  worship  them  ? 

Neo.  Since  thus  it  is,  since  virtue  is  oppressed, 
And  vice  triumphant,  who  deserve  to  live 
Are  doomed  to  perish,  and  the  guilty  reign. 
Henceforth,  0  son  of  Psean  !  far  from  Troy 
And  the  Atridse  will  I  live  remote. 
I  would  not  see  the  man  I  cannot  love. 
My  barren  Scyros  shall  afford  me  refuge, 
And  home-felt  joys  delight  my  future  days. 
So,  fare  thee  well,  and  may  th'  indulgent  gods 


no 


PHILOCTETES, 


Heal  thy  sad  wound,  and  grant  thee  every  wish 
Thy  soul  can  form  !    Once  more,  farewell !     I  go, 
The  first  propitious  gale. 

PjiiL.  What !  now,  my  son  ? 

So  soon  % 

Meg.         Immediately;  the  time  demands 
Wo  should  be  near,  and  ready  to  depart. 

Phil.  Now,  by  the  memory  of  thy  lionoured  sire, 
By  thy  loved  mother,  ])y  whate'er  remains 
On  earth  most  dear  to  thee,  oh  !  hear  me  now. 
Thy  suppliant !    Do  not,  do  not  thus  forsake  me, 
Alone,  oppressed,  deserted,  as  thou  seest. 
In  this  sad  place.    I  shall,  I  know  it  must,  be 
A  burthen  to  thee.     But,  oh  !  bear  it  kindly  \ 
For  ever  doth  the  noble  mind  abhor 
Th'  ungenerous  deed,  and  loves  humanity ; 
Disgrace  attends  thee  if  thou  dost  forsake  me. 
If  not,  immortal  fame  rewards  thy  goodness. 
Thou  mayst  convey  me  safe  to  CEta's  shores 
In  one  short  day ;  I'll  trouble  you  no  longer. 
Hide  mo  in  any  part  where  I  may  least 
Molest  you.     Hear  me  !     By  the  guardian  god 
Of  the  poor  suppliant,  all  protecting  Jove, 
I  beg.    Behold  me  at  thy  feet,  infirm, 
And  wretched  as  I  am,  I  clasp  thy  knees. 
Leave  me  not  here  then,  where  there  is  no  mark 
Of  human  footstep — take  me  to  thy  home  ! 
Or  to  Eubooa's  port,  to  CEta,  thence 
Short  is  the  way  to  Trachin,  or  the  banks 
Of  Sperchius'  gentle  stream,  to  meet  my  father, 
If  yet  he  lives ;  for,  oh  !  I  begged  him  oft 
By  those  who  hither  came,  to  fetch  me  hence — 
Or  is  he  dead,  or  they  neglectful  bent 
Their  hasty  course  to  their  own  native  soil. 
Be  thou  my  better  guide !     Pity  and  save 
The  poor  and  wretched.     Think,  my  son,  how  frail 
And  full  of  danger  is  the  state  of  man — 
Now  prosperous,  now  adverse.     Who  feels  no  ills 
Should  therefore  fear  them ;  and  when  fortune  smiles 
Be  doubly  cautious,  lest  destruction  come 
Remorseless  on  him,  and  he  fall  unpitied. 


PHILOCTETES.  ii 

Chor.  Oh,  pity  him,  my  lord,  for  bitterest  woes 
And  trials  most  severe  he  hath  recounted ; 
Far  be  such  sad  distress  from  those  I  love  ! 
Oh !  if  thou  hat'st  the  base  Atridae,  now 
Revenge  thee  on  them,  serve  their  deadliest  foe ; 
Bear  the  poor  suppliant  to  his  native  soil ; 
So  shalt  thou  bless  thy  friend,  and  'scape  the  wrath 
Of  the  just  gods,  who  still  protect  the  wretched. 

Ned.  Your  proffered  kindness,  friends,  may  cost  you 
dear ; 
When  you  shall  feel  his  dreadful  malady 
Oppress  you  sore,  you  will  repent  it. 

Chor.  Never 

Shall  that  reproach  be  ours. 

Ned.  In  generous  pity 

Of  the  afflicted  thus  to  be  o'ercome 
Were  most  disgraceful  to  me ;  he  shall  go. 
May  the  kind  gods  speed  our  departure  hence, 
And  guide  our  vessels  to  the  wished-for  shore  ! 

Phil.  O  happy  hour  !  O  kindest,  best  of  men  ! 
And  you  my  dearest  friends  !  how  shall  I  thank  you  ? 
What  shall  I  do  to  show  my  grateful  heart  ? 
Let  us  be  gone  !     But,  oh  !  permit  me  first 
To  take  a  last  farewell  of  my  poor  hut, 
Where  1  so  long  have  lived.     Perhaps  you'll  say 
I  must  have  had  a  noble  mind  to  bear  it. 
The  very  sight  to  any  eyes  but  mine 
Were  horrible,  but  sad  necessity 
At  length  prevailed,  and  made  it  pleasing  to  me 

Chor.  One  from  our  ship,  my  lord,  and  with  him 
comes 
A  stranger.     Stop  a  moment  till  we  hear 
Their  business  with  us. 

\EnteT  a  Spy  in  the  habit  of  a  Merchant, 
with  another  Grecian, 


(^  OF  THE      ^ 


Hi 


PHILOCTETES, 


Scene  II. 


Neoptolemus,  Philoctetes,  Chorus,  Spy. 


Spy.  Son  of  great  Acliilles, 

Know,  chance  alone  hath  brought  me  hither,  driven 
By  adverse  winds  to  where  thy  vessels  lay, 
As  home  I  sailed  from  Troy.     There  did  I  meet 
This  my  companion,  who  informed  me  where 
Thou  mightst  be  found.     Hence  to  pursue  my  course 
And  not  to  tell  thee  what  concerns  thee  near 
Had  been  ungenerous,  thou  perhaps  meantime 
Of  Greece  and  of  her  counsels  naught  suspecting. 
Counsels  against  thee  not  by  threats  alone 
Or  words  enforced,  but  now  in  execution. 

Neo.  Now  by  my  virtue,  stranger,  for  thy  news 
I  am  much  bound  to  thee,  and  will  repay 
Thy  service.     Tell  me  what  the  Greeks  have  done. 

Spy.  a  fleet  already  sails  to  fetch  thee  back, 
Conducted  by  old  Phoenix,  and  the  sons 
Of  valiant  Theseus. 

Neo.  Come  they  then  to  force  me  ? 

Oi-  am  I  to  be  won  by  their  persuasion  ? 

Spy.  I  know  not  that ;  you  have  what  I  could  learn. 

Neo.  And  did  th'  Atridse  send  them  ? 

Spy.  Sent  they  are, 

And  will  be  with  you  soon. 

Neo.  But  wherefore  then 

Came  not  Ulysses  ?      Did  his  courage  fail  ? 

Spy.  He,  ere  I  left  the  camp,  with  Diomed^ 
On  some  important  embassy  sailed  forth 
In  search — 

Neo.  Of  whom  % 

Spy.  There  was  a  man — but  stay, 

Who  is  thy  friend  here,  tell  me,  but  speak  softly. 

[Whispering  him. 

Neo.  The  famous  Philoctetes. 

SpY:  Ha  !  begone  then  ! 

Ask  me  no  more — away,  immediately  ! 


^HILOCTETES,  1T3 

Phil.  What  do  these  dark  mysterious  whispers  mean  ? 
Concern  they  me,  my  son  ? 

Neo.  I  know  not  what 

He  means  to  say,  but  I  would  have  him  speak 
Boldly  before  us  all,  whate'er  it  be. 

Spy.  Do  not  betray  me  to  the  Grecian  host, 
Nor  make  me  speak  what  I  would  fain  conceal. 
I  am  but  poor — they  have  befriended  me. 

Neo.  In  me  thou  seest  an  enemy  confest 
To  the  Atridse.     This  is  my  best  friend 
Because  he  hates  them  too ;  if  thou  art  mine, 
Hide  nothing  then. 

Spy.  Consider  first. 

Neo.  I  have. 

Spy.  The  blame  will  be  on  you. 

Neo.  Why,  let  it  be ; 

But  speak,  I  charge  thee. 

Spy,  Since  I  must  then,  know, 

In  solemn  league  combined,  the  bold  Ulysses 
And  gallant  Diomede  have  sworn  by  force 
Or  by  persuasion  to  bring  back  thy  friend : 
The  Grecians  heard  Laertes'  son  declare 
His  purpose ;  far  more  resolute  he  seemed 
Than  Diomede,  and  surer  of  success. 

Neo.  But  why  th'  Atridae,  after  so  long  time. 
Again  should  wish  to  see  this  wretched  exile  ? 
Whence  this  desire  %     Came  it  from  th'  angry  gods 
To  punish  thus  their  inhumanity  ] 

Spy.  I  can  inform  you ;  for  perhaps  from  Greece 
Of  late  you  have  not  heard.     There  was  a  prophet, 
Son  of  old  Priam,  Helenus  by  name, 
Him,  in  his  midnight  walks,  the  wily  chief 
Ulysses,  curse  of  every  tongue,  espied  ; 
Took  him,  and  led  him  captive,  to  the  Greeks 
A  welcome  spoil.     Much  he  foretold  to  all, 
And  added  last  that  Troy  should  never  fall 
Till  Philoctetes  from  this  isle  returned. 
Ulysses  heard,  and  instant  promise  gave 
To  fetch  him  hence ;  he  hoped  by  gentle  means 
To  gain  him  ;  those  successless,  force  at  last 
Could  but  compel  him.     He  would  go,  he  cried, 


PHTLOCTETES. 

And  if  lio  failed  his  liead  should  pay  the  forfeit. 

I've  told  thee  all,  and  warn  thee  to  be  gone, 

Thou  and  thy  friend,  if  thou  wouldst  wish  to  save  him. 

Phil.  And  does  the  traitor  think  he  can  persuade  me  ? 
As  well  might  he  persuade  me  to  return 
From  death  to  life,  as  his  base  father  did. 

Spy.  Of  tliat  I  know  not :  I  must  to  my  ship. 
Farewell,  and  may  the  gods  protect  you  both  !         \_ExiL 

Phil.   Lead  me — expose  me  to  the  Grecian  host ! 
And  could  the  insolent  Ulysses  hope 
With  his  soft  flatteries  e'er  to  conquer  me  \ 
No !     Sooner  would  1  listen  to  the  voice 
Of  that  fell  serpent,  whose  envenomed  tongue 
Hath  lamed  me  thus.     But  what  is  there  he  dare  not 
Or  say  or  do  ?    I  know  he  will  be  here 
E'en  now,  depend  on't.     Therefore,  let's  away  ! 
Quick  let  the  sea  divide  us  from  Ulysses. 
Let  us  be  gone ;  for  well-timed  expedition, 
The  task  performed,  brings  safety  and  repose. 

Ned.  Soon  {\s  the  wind  permits  us  we  embark, 
But  now  'tis  adverse. 

Phil.  Every  wind  is  fair 

When  we  are  flying  from  misfortune. 

Ned.  True ; 

And  'tis  against  them  too. 

Phil,  Alas !  no  storms 

Can  drive  back  fraud  and  rapine  from  their  prey. 

Neo.  I'm  ready.     Take  what  may  be  necessaiy, 
And  follow  me. 

Phil.  I  want  not  much. 

Neo.  Perhaps 

My  ship  will  furnish  you. 

Phil.  There  is  a  plant 

Which  to  my  wound  gives  some  relief ;  I  must 
Have  that. 

Neo.  Is  there  aught  else  % 

Phil.  Alas  !  my  bow 

I  had  forgot.     I  must  not  lose  that  treasure. 

[Philoctetes  steps  towards  his  Grotto,  and 
hrhigs  out  his  boiv  and  ay-rows. 

Neo.  Are  these  the  famous  arrows  then  ? 


PHILOCTETES. 


"5 


Phil.  They  are. 

Neo.  And  may  I  be  permitted  to  behold, 
To  touch,  to  pay  my  adoration  to  them  ? 

Phil.  In  these,  my  son,  in  everything  that 's  mine 
Thou  hast  a  right. 

Neo.                       But  if  it  be  a  crime. 
I  would  not ;  otherwise 

Phil.  Oh!  thou  art  full 

Of  piety  ;  in  thee  it  is  no  crime ; 
In  thee,  my  friend,  by  whom  alone  I  look 
Once  more  with  pleasure  on  the  radiant  sun — 
By  whom  I  live— who  giv'st  me  to  return 
To  my  dear  father,  to  my  friends,  my  country  : 
Sunk  as  I  was  beneath  my  foes,  once  more 
I  rise  to  triumph  o'er  them  by  thy  aid  : 
Behold  them,  touch  them,  but  return  them  to  me, 
And  boast  that  virtue  which  on  thee  alone 
Bestowed  such  honour.     Virtue  made  them  mine. 
I  can  deny  thee  nothing  :  he,  whose  heart 
Is  grateful  can  alone  deserve  the  name 
Of  friend,  to  every  treasure  far  superior. 

ISTeo.  Go  in. 

Phil.  Come  with  me  ;  for  my  painful  wound 

Requires  thy  friendly  hand  to  help  me  onward. 

{Exeunt. 
Chorus. 

Stro'plie, 

Since  proud  Ixion,  doomed  to  feel 
The  tortures  of  th'  eternal  wheel. 
Bound  by  the  hand  of  angry  Jove, 
Received  the  due  rewards  of  impious  love  ; 
Ne'er  was  distress  so  deep  or  woe  so  great 
As  on  the  wretched  Philoctetes  wait ; 
Who  ever  with  the  just  and  good, 
Guiltless  of  fraud  and  rapine,  stood, 
And  the  fair  paths  of  virtue  still  pursued ; 
Alone  on  this  inhospitable  shore, 
Where  waves  for  ever  beat  and  tempests  roar, 
How  could  he  e'er  or  hope  or  comfort  know, 
Or  painful  life  support  beneath  such  weight  of  woe  ? 


ij6  PHILOCTETES, 


Antistrophe. 

Exposed  to  the  inclement  skies, 

Deserted  and  forlorn  he  lies, 

No  friend  or  fellow-mourner  there 
To  soothe  his  sorrows  and  divide  his  care, 
Or  seek  the  healing  plant  of  power  to  'suage 
His  aching  wound  and  mitigate  its  rage  ; 

But  if  perchance,  awhile  released 

From  torturing  pain,  he  sinks  to  rest. 
Awakened  soon,  and  by  sharp  hunger  prest, 
Compelled  to  wander  forth  in  search  of  food. 
He  crawls  in  anguish  to  the  neighbouring  wood  ; 
Even  as  the  tottering  infant  in  despair 
Who  mourns  an  absent  mother's  kind  supporting  care, 

Strophe  2. 

The  teeming  earth,  who  mortals  still  supplies 

With  every  good,  to  him  her  seed  denies ; 
A  stranger  to  the  joy  that  flows 

From  the  kind  aid  which  man  on  man  bestows ; 
Nor  food,  alas  !  to  him  was  given, 

Save  when  his  arrows  pierced  the  birds  of  heaven ; 
Nor  e'er  did  Bacchus'  heart-expanding  bowl 

For  ten  long  years  relieve  his  cheerless  soul ; 

But  glad  was  he  his  eager  thirst  to  slake 
In  the  unwholesome  pool,  or  ever-stagnant  lak^. 

Antistrophe  2. 

But  now,  behold  the  joyful  captive  freed ; 
A  fairer  fate,  and  brighter  days  succeed : 

For  he  at  last  hath  found  a  friend 
Of  noblest  race,  to  save  and  to  defend. 

To  guide  him  with  protecting  hand, 
And  safe  restore  him  to  his  native  land ; 
On  Sperchius'  flowery  banks  to  join  the  throng 
Of  Melian  nymphs,  and  lead  the  choral  song 
On  CEta's  top,  which  saw  Alcides  rise, 
And  from  the  flaming  pile  ascend  his  native  skies, 


PHILOCTETES.  ,17 

ACT    III. 

Scene  I. 
Neoptolemus,  Philoctetes,  Chorus. 

Neo.  Come,  Philoctetes;  why  thus  silent?     Wherefore 
This  sudden  terror  on  thee  ? 

Phil.  Oh ! 

Neo.  Whence  is  it  ? 

Phil.  Nothing,  my  son ;  go  on  ! 

Neo.  Is  it  thy  wound 

That  pains  thee  thus  ? 

Phil.  No  ;  I  am  better  now. 

0  gods ! 

Neo.       Why  dost  thou  call  thus  on  the  gods  ? 

Phil.  To  smile  propitious,  and  preserve  us Oh  ! 

Neo.  Thou  art  in  misery.     Tell  me — wilt  thou  not  ? 
What  is  it  % 

Phil.  O  my  son  !  I  can  no  longer 

Conceal  it  from  thee.     Oh  !  I  die,  I  perish ; 
By  the  great  gods  let  me  implore  thee,  now 
This  moment,  if  thou  hast  a  sword,  oh  !  strike, 
Cut  off  this  painful  limb,  and  end  my  being  ! 

Neo.  What  can  this  mean,  that  unexpected  thus 
It  should  torment  thee  1 

Phil.  Know  you  not,  my  son  ? 

Neo.  What  is  the  cause  ? 

Phil.  Can  you  not  guess  it  % 

Neo.  No. 

Phil.  Nor  I. 

Neo.  That's  stranger  still. 

Phil.  My  son,  my  son  ! 

Neo.  This  new  attack  is  terrible  indeed  ! 

Phil.  'Tis  inexpressible  !     Have  pity  on  me ! 

Neo.  What  shall  I  do  ? 

Phil.  Do  not  be  terrified, 

And  leave  me.     Its  returns  are  regular, 


it8  PN/LOCTETES, 


And  like  tl>p  traveller,  when  its  appetite 
Is  satisfied,  it  will  depart.     Oh  !  oh  ! 

Neo.  Thou  art  oppressed  with  ills  on  every  side. 
Give  me  thy  hand.    Come,  wilt  thou  lean  upon  me? 

Phil.  No;  but  these  arrows,  take;   preserve  'em    {<>; 
me. 
A  little  while,  till  I  grow  better.     Sleep 
Is  coming  on  me,  and  my  pains  will  cease. 
Tvet  mo  ])e  quiet.     If  meantime  our  foes 
Surprise  thee,  let  nor  force  nor  artifice 
Deprive  thee  of  the  great,  the  precious  trust 
I  have  reposed  in  thee  ;  that  were  ruin 
To  thee,  and  to  thy  friend. 

Neo.  Be  not  afraid — 

No  hands  but  mine  shall  touch  them ;  give  them  to  me. 

Phil.  Receive  them,  son  ;  and  let  it  be  thy  prayer 
They  bring  not  woes  on  thee,  as  they  have  done 
To  me  and  to  Alcides. 

[Gives  him  the  how  and  a/rroics. 

Neo.  May  the  gods 

Forbid  it  ever  !     May  they  guide  our  course 
And  speed  our  prosperous  sails  ! 

Phil.  Alas !  my  son, 

I  fear  thy  vows  are  vain.     Behold  my  blood 
Flows  from  the  w^ound  ?     Oh  !  how  it  pains  me  !     Now 
It  comes,  it  hastens  !     Do  not,  do  not  leave  me ! 
Oh  !  that  Ulysses  felt  this  racking  torture, 
K'en  to  his  inmost  soul !    Again  it  comes  ! 
()  Agamemnon  !  Menelaus  !  why 
Should  not  you  bear  these  pangs  as  I  have  done  1 
O  death  !  where  art  thou,  death  %  so  often  called, 
Wilt  thou  not  listen  ?  wilt  thou  never  come  ? 
Take  thou  the  Lemnian  fire,  my  generous  friend, 
Do  me  the  same  kind  office  which  I  did 
For  my  Alcides.    These  are  thy  reward ; 
He  gave  them  to  me.     Thou  alone  deservest 
The  great  inheritance.     What  says  my  friend  ? 
What  says  my  dear  preserver  ]     Oh  !  where  art  thou  ? 

Neo.  I  mourn  thy  hapless  fate. 

Phil.  Be  of  good  cheer, 


PHILOCTETES.  119 

Quick  my  disorder  comes,  and  goes  as  soon ; 
I  only  beg  thee  not  to  leave  me  here. 

Neo.  Depend  on 't,  I  will  stay. 

Phil.  Wilt  thou  indeed  ? 

Neo.  Trust  me,  I  will. 

Phil.  I  need  not  bind  thee  to  it 

By  oath. 

Ned.  Oh,  no  !  'twere  impious  to  forsake  thee. 

Phil.  Give  me  thy  hand,  and  pledge  thy  faith. 

Ned.  I  do. 

Phil.  Thither,  oh,  thither  lead  ! 

\Pointing  up  to  heaven. 

Ned.  What  sayst  thou  ?  where  1 

Phil,  Above. 

Neo.  What,  lost  again  ?  Why  lookst  thou  thus 

On  that  bright  circle  1 

Phil.  Let  me,  let  me  go  ! 

Neo.  [lays  hold  o/him].         Where  wouldst  thou  go  ? 

Phil,  Loose  me. 

Neo.  I  will  not. 

Phil.  Oh ! 

You'll  kill  me,  if  you  do  not. 

Neo.  [lets  him  go].  There,  then ;  now 

Is  thy  mind  better  ? 

Phil.  Oh !  receive  me,  earth ! 

Receive  a  dymg  man.     Here  must  I  lie ; 
For,  oh  !  my  pain 's  so  great  I  cannot  rise. 

[Philoctetes  sinks  down  on  the  earth  near 
the  entra7ice  of  the  cave. 


Scene  II. 

Neoptolemus,  Chorus. 

Neo.  Sleep  hath  o'ertaken  him.     See,  his  head  is  lain 
On  the  cold  earth ;  the  balmy  sweat  thick  drops 
From  every  limb,  and  from  the  broken  vein 
Flows  the  warm  blood  ;  let  us  indulge  his  slumbers. 


120 


PHILOCTETES. 


Chorus. 


INVOCATION  TO   SLEEP. 

Sleep,  thou  patron  of  mankind, 
Great  physician  of  the  mind, 
Who  dost  nor  pain  nor  sorrow  know, 
Sweetest  balm  of  every  woe, 
Mildest  sovereign,  hear  us  now  ; 
Hear  thy  wretched  suppliant's  vow ; 
His  eyes  in  gentle  slumbers  close. 
And  continue  his  repose  ; 
Hear  thy  wretched  suppliant's  tow, 
Great  physician,  hear  us  now. 

And  now,  my  son,  what  best  may  suit  thy  purpose 

Consider  well,  and  how  we  are  to  act. 

What  more  can  we  expect  %    The  time  is  come ; 

For  better  far  is  opportunity 

Seized  at  the  lucky  hour  than  all  the  counsels 

Which  wisdom  dictates  or  which  craft  inspires. 

Ned.  He  hears  us  not.     But  easy  as  it  is 
To  gain  the  prize,  it  would  avail  us  nothing 
Were  he  not  with  us  ?     Phoebus  hath  reserved 
For  him  alone  the  crown  of  victory ; 
But  thus  to  boast  of  what  we  could  not  do. 
And  break  our  word,  were  most  disgraceful  to  us. 

Chor.  The  gods  will  guide  us,  fear  it  not,  my  son  ; 
But  what  thou  sayst  speak  soft,  for  well  thou  knowst 
The  sick  man's  sleep  is  short.     He  may  awake 
And  hear  us ;  therefore  let  us  hide  our  purpose. 
If  then  thou  thinkst  as  he  does — thou  knowst  whom— 
This  is  the  hour.     At  such  a  time,  my  son. 
The  wisest  err.     But  mark  me,  the  wind's  fair. 
And  Philoctctes  sleeps,  void  of  all  help — 
Lame,  impotent,  unable  to  resist, 
He  is  as  one  among  the  dead.     E'en  now 
We'll  take  him  with  us.     'Twere  an  easy  task. 
Leave  it  to  me,  my  son.     There  is  no  danger. 

Ned.  No  more !     His  eyes  are  open.     See,  he  moves. 


PHTLOCTETES.  lai 

Scene  III. 
Philoctetes,  Neoptolemus,  Chorus. 

Phil,  [aioaking].  0  fair  returning  light !  beyond 
my  hope ; 
You  too,  my  kind  preservers !  0  my  son  ! 
I  could  not  think  thou  wouldst  have  stayed  so  long 
In  kind  compassion  to  thy  friend.     Alas ! 
The  Atridse  never  would  have  acted  thus. 
But  noble  is  thy  nature,  and  thy  birth, 
And  therefore  little  did  my  wretchedness, 
Nor  from  my  wounds  the  noisome  stench  deter 
Thy  generous  heart.     I  have  a  little  respite ; 
Help  me,  my  son  !  I'll  try  to  rise ;  this  weakness 
Will  leave  me  soon,  and  then  we'll  go  together. 

Neo.  I  little  thought  to  find  thee  thus  restored. 
Trust  me,  I  joy  to  see  thee  free  from  pain. 
And  hear  thee  speak ;  the  marks  of  death  were  on  thee. 
Raise  thyself  up ;  thy  friends  here,  if  thou  wilt, 
Shall  carry  thee,  'twill  be  no  burthen  to  them 
If  we  request  it. 

Phil.  No  ;  thy  hand  alone ; 

I  will  not  trouble  them ;  'twill  be  enough 
If  they  can  bear  with  me  and  my  distemper 
When  we  embark. 

Neo,  Well,  be  it  so  ;  but  rise. 

Phil,  [rising].  Oh  !  never  fear ;  I'll  rise  as  well  as  ever. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT    IV. 

Scene  I. 

Neoptolemus,  Philoctetes,  Chorus. 

Neoptolemus.  How  shall  I  act  ? 

Phil.  What  says  my  son  ? 


PHILOCTETES. 


Neo.  Alas ! 

I  know  not  what  to  say ;  my  doubtful  mind 

Phil.  Talked  you  of  doubts?     You  did  not  surely. 

Neo.  Aye, 

That's  my  misfortune. 

Phil.  Is  then  my  distress 

The  cause  at  last  you  will  not  take  me  with  you  1 

Neo.  All  is  distress  and  misery  when  we  act 
Against  our  nature  and  consent  to  ill. 

Phil.  But  sure  to  help  a  good  man  in  misfortunes 
Is  not  against  thy  nature. 

Neo.  Men  will  call  me 

A  villain  ;  that  distracts  me. 

Phil.  Not  for  this ; 

For  what  thou  meanst  to  do  thou  mayst  deserve  it. 

Neo,  What  shall  I  do  ?     Direct  me,  Jove  !     To  hide 
What  I  should  speak,  and  tell  a  base  untruth 
Were  double  guilt. 

Phil.  He  purposes  at  last, 

I  fear  it  much,  to  leave  me. 

Neo.  Leave  thee !     No  ! 

But  how  to  make  thee  go  with  pleasure  hence, 
There  I'm  distressed. 

Phil.  I  understand  thee  not ; 

AVhat  means  my  son? 

Neo.  I  can  no  longer  hide 

The  dreadful  secret  from  thee ;  thou  art  going 
To  Troy,  e'en  to  the  Greeks,  to  the  Atridfe. 

Phil.  Alas  !  what  sayest  thou  % 

Neo.  Do  not  weep,  but  hear  me. 

Phil.  What  must  I  hear  ?  what  wilt  thou  do  with  mo  % 

Neo.  First  set  thee  free ;  then  carry  thee,  my  friend, 
To  conquer  Troy. 

Phil.  Is  this  indeed  thy  purpose  ? 

Neo.  This  am  I  bound  to  do. 

PniL.  Then  am  I  lost, 

Undone,  betrayed.     Canst  thou,  my  friend,  do  this? 
Give  me  my  arms  again. 

Neo.  It  cannot  be. 

I  must  obey  the  powers  who  sent  me  hither ; 
Justice  enjoins  —the  common  cause  demands  it. 


PHILOCTETES, 


123 


Phil.  Thou  worst  of  men,  thou  vile  artificer 
Of  fraud  most  infamous,  what  hast  thou  done  ? 
How  have  I  been  deceived  %     Dost  thou  not  bhish 
To  look  upon  me,  to  behold  me  thus 
Beneath  thy  feet  imploring  %     Base  betrayer ! 
To  rob  me  of  my  bow,  the  means  of  hfe, 
The  only  means — give  'em,  restore  'em  to  me  ! 
Do  not  take  all !     Alas !  he  hears  me  not, 
Kor  deigns  to  speak,  but  casts  an  angry  look 
That  says  I  never  shall  be  free  again. 
O  mountains,  rivers,  rocks,  and  savage  herds ! 
To  you  I  speak — to  you  alone  I  now 
Must  breathe  my  sorrows ;  you  are  wont  to  hear. 
My  sad  complaints,  and  I  will  tell  you  all 
That  I  have  suffered  from  Achilles'  son, 
Who,  bound  by  solemn  oath  to  bear  me  hence 
To  my  dear  native  soil,  now  sails  for  Troy. 
The  perjured  wretch  lii-st  gave  his  plighted  hand, 
Then  stole  the  sacred  arrows  of  my  friend, 
The  son  of  Jove,  the  great  Alcides ;  those 
He  means  to  show  the  Greeks,  to  snatch  me  hence 
And  boast  his  prize,  as  if  poor  Philoctetes, 
This  empty  shade,  were  worthy  of  his  arm. 
Had  I  been  what  I  was,  he  ne'er  had  thus 
Subdued  me,  and  e'en  now  to  fraud  alone 
He  owes  the  conquest  .  I  have  been  betiuyed ! 
Give  me  my  arms  again,  and  be  thyself 
Once  more.     Oh,  speak  !    Thou  wilt  not  %    Then  I'm  lost. 

0  my  poor  hut !  again  I  come  to  thee 
Naked  and  destitute  of  food ;  once  more 
Receive  me,  here  to  die ;  for  now,  no  longer 
Shall  my  swift  arrow  reach  the  flying  prey, 

Or  on  the  mountains  pierce  the  wandering  herd ; 

1  shall  myself  afford  a  banquet  now 

To  those  I  used  to  feed  on — they  the  hunters. 
And  I  their  easy  prey ;  so  shall  the  blood 
Which  I  so  oft  have  shed  be  paid  by  mine ; 
And  all  this  too  fron  him  whom  once  I  deemed 
Stranger  to  fraud  nor  capable  of  ill ; 
And  yet  I  will  not  curse  thee  till  I  know 
Whether  thou  still  retainst  thy  horrid  purpose, 


124 


PHILOCTETES, 


Or  dost  repent  thee  of  it ;  if  thou  dost  not, 
Destruction  wait  thee ! 

Chor.  We  attend  your  pleasure, 

iNIy  royal  lord,  we  must  be  gone ;  determine 
To  leave,  or  take  him  with  us. 

Neo.  His  distress 

Doth  move  me  much.     Trust  me,  I  long  have  felt 
Compassion  for  him. 

Phil.  Oh  !  then  by  the  gods 

Pity  me  now,  my  son,  nor  let  mankind 
Reproach  thee  for  a  fraud  so  base. 

Neo.  Alas ! 

What  shall  I  do?     Would  I  were  still  at  Scyros ! 
For  I  am  most  unhappy. 

Phil.  O  my  son  ! 

Thou  art  not  base  by  nature,  but  misguided 
By  those  who  are,  to  deeds  unworthy  of  thee. 
Turn  then  thy  fraud  on  them  who  best  deserve  it ; 
Restore  my  arms,  and  leave  me. 

Neo.  Speak,  my  friends, 

What's  to  be  done  % 


Scene  II. 
Philoctetes,  Neoptolemus,  Chorus,  Ulysses. 

XJly.  Ah  !  dost  thou  hesitate  % 

Traitor,  be  gone  !     Give  me  the  arms. 

Phil.  Ah  me ! 

Ulysses  here  % 

Uly.  Aye !  'tis  Ulysses'  self 

That  stands  before  thee. 

Phil.  Then  I'm  lost,  betrayed  J 

This  was  the  cruel  spoiler. 

Uly.  Doubt  it  not. 

'Twas  I ;  I  do  confess  it. 

Phil.  \to  Neoptolemus].     O  my  son ! 
Give  me  them  back. 

Uly.  It  must  not  be  ;  with  them 

Thyself  must  go,  or  we  shall  drag  thee  hence. 

Phil.  And  will  they  force  mef  O  thou  daring  villain 


PHILOCTETES.  125 

XJly.  They  will,  unless  thou  dost  consent  to  go. 

Phil.  Wilt  thou,  O  Lemnos!  wilt  thou,  mighty 
Vulcan ! 
With  thy  all-conquering  fire,  permit  me  thus 
To  be  torn  from  thee  ? 

Uly.  Know,  gi-eat  Jove  himself 

Doth  here  preside.     He  hath  decreed  thy  fate ; 
I  but  perform  his  will. 

Phil.  Detested  wretch, 

Mak'st  thou  the  gods  a  cover  for  thy  crime  ? 
Do  they  teach  falsehood  ? 

Uly.  No,  they  taught  me  truth, 

And  therefore,  hence — that  way  thy  journey  lies. 

[Pointiny  to  the  sea. 

Phil.  It  doth  not. 

Uly.  But  I  say  it  must  be  so. 

Phil.  And  Philoctetes  then  was  born  a  slave ! 
I  did  not  know  it. 

Uly.  No;  I  mean  to  place  thee 

E'en  with  the  noblest,  e'en  with  those  by  whom 
Proud  Troy  must  perish. 

Phil.  Never  will  I  go. 

Befall  what  may,  whilst  this  deep  cave  is  open 
To  bury  all  my  sorrows. 

Uly.  What  wouldst  do? 

Phil.  Here  throw  me  down,  dash  out  my  desperate 
brains 
Against  this  rock,  and  sprinkle  it  with  my  blood. 

Uly.  [to  the  Chorus].  Seize,  and  prevent  him ! 

{They  seize  him. 

Phil.  Manacled  !    0  hands  ! 

How  helpless  are  you  now  !  those  arms,  which  once 
Protected,  thus  torn  from  you  !  [To  Ulys«es. 

Thou  abandoned, 
Thou  shameless  wretch  !  from  whom  nor  truth  nor 

justice, 
Naught  that  becomes  the  generous  mind,  can  flow, 
How  hast  thou  used  me  !  how  betrayed  !     Suborned 
This  stranger,  this  poor  youth,  who,  worthier  far 
To  be  my  friend  than  thine,  was  only  here 
Thy  instrument ;  he  knew  not  what  he  did, 


26 


PHILOCTETES, 


And  now,  thou  seest,  repents  him  of  the  crime 

Which  brought  such  guilt  on  him,  such  woes  on  me. 

But  thy  foul  soul,  which  from  its  dai-k  recess 

Trembling  looks  forth,  beheld  him  void  of  art, 

Unwilling  as  he  wms,  instructed  him. 

And  made  him  soon  a  master  in  deceit. 

I  am  thy  prisoner  now ;  e'en  now  thou  meanst 

To  drag  me  hence,  from  this  unhappy  shore. 

Where  first  thy  malice  left  me,  a  poor  exile, 

Deserted,  fiiendless,  and  though  living,  dead 

To  all  mankind.     Perish  the  vile  betrayer  ! 

Oh  !  I  have  cursed  thee  often,  but  the  gods 

Will  never  hear  the  prayers  of  Philoctetes. 

Life  and  its  joys  are  thine,  whilst  I,  unhapjiy, 

Am  but  the  scorn  of  thee,  and  the  Atiidie, 

Thy  haughty  masters.    Fraud  and  force  compelled 

thee. 
Or  thou  hadst  never  sailed  with  them  to  Troy. 
I  lent  my  willing  aid ;  with  seven  brave  ships 
I  ploughed  the  main  to  serve  them.    In  return 
They  cast  me  forth,  disgraced  me,  left  me  here. 
Thou  sayst  they  did  it ;  they  impute  the  crime 
To  thee.     And  what  will  you  do  with  me  now  ? 
And  whither  must  I  go  ?     What  end,  what  purpose 
Could  urge  thee  to  it  ?     I  am  nothing,  lost 
And  dead  already.    Wherefore — tell  me,  wherefore  ?- 
Am  I  not  still  the  same  detested  burthen. 
Loathsome  and  lame  ?     Again  must  Philoctetes 
Disturb  your  holy  rites  ?     If  I  am  with  you 
How  can  you  make  libations  ?     That  was  once 
Your  vile  j^retence  for  inhumanity. 
Oh  !  may  you  perish  for  the  deed  !     The  gods 
Will  grant  it  sure,  if  justice  be  their  care — 
And  that  it  is  I  know.     You  had  not  left 
Your  native  soil  to  seek  a  wretch  like  me 
Had  not  some  impulse  from  the  powers  above. 
Spite  of  yourselves,  ordained  it.     O  my  country  ! 
And  you,  O  gods  !  who  look  upon  this  deed, 
Punish,  in  pity  to  me,  punish  all 
The  guilty  band  !    Could  I  behold  them  perish, 
My  wounds  were  nothing ;  that  would  heal  them  all. 


PHILOCTETES.  127 

Chor.  \to  UlyssesJ.  Observe,  my  lord,  what  bitterness 
of  soul 
His  words  express ;  he  bends  not  to  misfortune, 
But  seems  to  brave  it. 

Uly.  I  could  answer  him, 

Were  this  a  time  for  words ;  but  now,  no  more 
Than  this — I  act  as  best  befits  our  purpose. 
Where  virtue,  truth,  and  justice  are  required 
Ulysses  yields  to  none  \  I  was  not  born 
To  be  o'ercome,  and  yet  submit  to  thee. 
Let  him  remain.     Thy  arrows  shall  suffice  ; 
We  want  thee  not ;  Teucer  can  draw  thy  bow 
As  well  as  thou  ;  myself  with  equal  strength 
Can  aim  the  deadly  shaft,  with  equal  skill. 
What  could  thy  presence  do  ?     Let  Lemnos  keep  thee. 
Farewell !  perhaps  the  honours  once  designed 
For  thee  may  be  reserved  to  grace  Ulysses. 

Phil.  Alas !  shall  Greece  then  see  my  deadlie>;i  foe 
Adorned  with  arms  which  I  alone  should  bear  ] 

Uly.  No  more  !     1  must  be  gone. 

Phil.  \to  Neoptolemus].  Son  of  Achilles, 

Thou  wilt  not  leave  me  too?     I  must  not  lose 
Thy  converse,  thy  assistance, 

Uly.  \to  ISTeoptolemus.  Look  not  on  him  ; 

Away,  I  charge  thee  !     'Twould  be  fatal  to  us. 

Phil.  \to  the  Chorus].  Will  you  forsake  me,  friends  ? 
Dwells  no  compassion 
Within  your  breasts  for  mel 

Chor.  [pomting  to  Neoptolemus].  He  is  our  master ; 
We  speak  and  act  but  as  his  will  directs. 

Neo.  I  know  he  will  upbraid  me  for  this  weakness. 
But  'tis  my  nature,  and  I  must  consent, 
Since  Philoctetes  asks  it.    Stay  you  with  him. 
Till  to  the  gods  our  pious  prayers  we  offer. 
And  all  things  are  prepared  for  our  departure  ; 
Perhaps,  meantime,  to  better  thoughts  his  mind 
May  turn  relenting.    We  must  go.    Remember, 
When  we  shall  call  you,  follow  instantly. 

[Exit  icith  Ulysses 


laS 


rniLOCTETES, 


Scene  III. 
PiiiLocTETES,  Chorus. 


Phil.  0  my  poor  hut !  and  is  it  then  decreed 
Again  I  come  to  theo  to  part  no  more, 
To  end  my  wretched  days  in  this  sad  cave, 
The  scene  of  all  my  woes  ?    For  whither  now 
Can  I  betake  me  1     Who  will  feed,  support, 
Or  cherish  Philoctetes  1     Not  a  hope 
Remains  for  me.     Oh  !  that  th'  impetuous  storms 
Would  bear  me  with  them  to  some  distant  clime  ! 
For  I  must  perish  here. 

Chor.  Unhappy  man  ! 

Thou  hast  provoked  thy  fate  ;  thyself  alone 
Art  to  thyself  a  foe,  to  scorn  the  good, 
Which  wisdom  bids  thee  take,  and  choose  misfortune. 

Phil.  Wretch  that  I  am,  to  perish  here  alone ! 
Oh  !  I  shall  see  the  face  of  man  no  more, 
Nor  shall  my  arrows  pierce  their  winged  prey, 
And  bring  me  sustenance  1    Such  vile  delusions 
Used  to  betray  me  !     Oh  I  that  pains  like  those 
I  feel  might  reach  the  author  of  my  woes  1 

Chor.  The  gods  decreed  it ;  we  are  not  to  blame. 
Heap  not  thy  curses  therefore  on  the  guiltless, 
But  take  our  friendship. 

Phil,  \jpointi7hg  to  tlie  sea-shore^  I  behold  him  there  j 
E'en  now  I  see  him  laughing  me  to  scorn 
On  yonder  shore,  and  in  his  hands  the  darts 
Ho  waves  triumphant,  which  no  arms  but  these 
Had  ever  borne.     0  my  dear  glorious  trea.sure  ! 
Hadst  thou  a  mind  to  feel  th'  indignity. 
How  wouldst  thou  grieve  to  change  thy  noble  master, 
The  friend  of  great  Alcides,  for  a  wretch 
So  vile,  so  base,  so  impious  as  Ulysses ! 

Chor.  Justice  will  ever  rule  the  good  man's  tongue, 
Nor  from  his  lips  reproach  and  bitterness 
Invidious  flow.     Ulysses,  by  the  voice 
Of  Greece  appointed,  only  sought  a  friend 
To  join  the  common  cause,  and  serve  his  country. 


^HILOCTETES.  129 

Phil.  Hear  me,  ye  winged  inhabitants  of  air, 
And  you,  who  on  these  mountains  love  to  feed, 
My  savage  prey,  whom  once  I  could  pursue ; 
Fearful  no  more  of  Philoctetes,  fly 
This  hollow  rock — I  cannot  hurt  you  now  ; 
You  need  not  dread  to  enter  here.     Alas ! 
You  now  may  come,  and  in  your  turn  regale 
On  these  poor  limbs,  when  I  shall  be  no  more. 
Where  can  I  hope  for  food  %  or  who  can  breathe 
This  vital  air,  when  life-preserving  earth 
No  longer  will  assist  him  ? 

Chor.  By  the  gods  ! 

Let  me  entreat  thee,  if  thou  dost  regard 
Our  master,  and  thy  friend,  come  to  him  now, 
Whilst  thou  mayst  'scape  this  sad  calamity ; 
Who  but  thyself  would  choose  to  be  unhappy 
That  could  prevent  it  ? 

Phil.  Oh  !  you  have  brought  back 

Once  more  the  sad  remembrance  of  my  griefs  ; 
Why,  why,  my  friends,  would  you  afflict  me  thus  ? 

Chor.  Afflict  thee —how  ? 

Phil.  Think  you  I'll  e'er  return 

To  hateful  Troy  ? 

Chor.  We  would  advise  thee  to  it. 

Phil.  I'll  hear  no  more.     Go,  leave  me  ! 

Chor.  That  we  shal.1 

Most  gladly.     To  the  ships,  my  friends ;  away !    \Goincj, 
Obey  your  orders. 

Phil.  \sto'ps  them].  By  protecting  Jove, 
Who  hears  the  suppliant's  prayer,  do  not  forsake  me  ! 

Chor.  [returning].  Be  calm  then. 

Phil.  0  my  friends  !  will  you  then  stay  ? 

Do,  by  the  gods  I  beg  you. 

Chor.  Why  that  groan  ? 

Phil.  Alas !  I  die.    My  wound,  my  wound  !    Hereafter 
What  can  I  do  1     You  will  not  leave  me  !     Hear 

Chor.  What  canst  thou  say  we  do  not  know  already  1 

Phil.  O'erwhelmed  by  such  a  storm  of  griefs  as  I  am, 
You  should  not  thus  resent  a  madman's  ifrenzy. 

Chor.  Comply  then  and  be  happy. 

Phil.  Never,  never  I 


I30 


PHILOCTETES. 


Be  sure  of  that.     Tho'  thunder- bearing  Jove 
Should  with  liis  lightnings  blast  me,  would  I  go  ? 
No !     Let  Troy  perish,  perish  all  the  host 
Who  sent  me  hero  to  die ;  but,  0  my  friends ! 
Grant  me  this  last  request. 

Chor.  What  is  it  ?     Speak. 

Phil.  A  sword,  a  daH,  some  instrument  of  death. 

Chor.  What  wouldst  thou  do  % 

Phil.  I'd  hack  off  every  limb. 

Deaths  my  soul  longs  for  death. 

Chor.  But  wherefore  is  it  ? 

Phil.  I'll  seek  my  father. 

Chor.  Whither  ? 

Phil.  In  the  tomb ; 

There  he  must  be.     0  Scyi-os' !  0  my  country  ! 
How  could  I  bear  to  see  thee  as  I  am — 
I  who  had  left  thy  sacred  shores  to  aid 
The  hateful  sons  of  Greece  %     0  misery  ! 

\Goes  into  the,  cave,.     Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

Scene    I. 
Ulysses,  Neoptolemus,  Chorus. 

Chorus.  Ere  now  we  should  have  taken  thee  to  our 
ships, 
But  that  advancing  this  way  I  behold 
Ulysses,  and  with  him  Achilles'  son. 

Uly.  Why  this  return  ?     Wherefore  this  haste  ? 

Neo.  I  come 

To  purge  me  of  my  crimes. 

Uly.  Indeed  !     What  crimes  '# 

Neo.  My  blind  obedience  to  the  Grecian  host 
And  to  thy  counsels. 


PHILOCTETES.  131 

Uly.  Hast  thou  practised  auglit 

Base  or  unworthy  of  thee  % 

Neo.  '     Yes ;  by  art 

And  vile  deceit  betrayed  th'  unhappy. 

Uly.  Whom  ? 

Alas  !  what  mean  you  % 

I'J'eo.  Nothing.     But  the  son 

Of  Pfxian 

Uly.  Ha  !  what  wouldst  thou  do  %     My  heart 

Misgives  me.  \_Aside. 

Neo.  I  have  ta'en  his  arms,  and  now 

Uly.  Thou  wouldst  restore  them !     Speak  !     Is  that 
thy  purpose  % 
Almighty  Jove ! 

Neo.  Unjustly  should  I  keep 

Another's  right  ? 

Uly.  Now,  by  the  gods,  thou  meanst 

To  mock  me  !     Dost  thou  not  % 

Neo.  If  to  speak  truth 

Be  mockery. 

Uly.  And  does  Achilles'  son 

Say  this  to  me  ? 

Neo.  Why  force  me  to  repeat 

My  words  so  often  to  thee  ? 

Uly.  Once  to  hear  them 

Is  once  indeed  too  much. 

Neo.  Doubt  then  no  more, 

For  I  have  told  thee  all. 

Uly.  There  are,  remember, 

There  are  who  may  prevent  thee. 

Neo.  Who  shall  dare 

To  thwart  my  purpose  % 

Uly.  All  the  Grecian  host, 

And  with  them,  I. 

Neo.  Wise  as  thou  art,  Ulysses, 

Thou  talkst  most  idly. 

Uly.  Wisdom  is  not  thine 

Either  in  word  or  deed. 

Neo.  Know,  to  be  just 

Is  better  far  than  to  be  wise. 

Uly.  But  where, 


132 


PHTLOCTETES, 


Where  is  the  justice,  tlius  unauthorized, 
To  give  a  treasure  back  thou  ow'st  to  me, 
And  to  my  counsels  ? 

Neo.  I  have  done  a  wrong, 

And  I  will  try  to  make  atonement  for  it. 

Uly.  Dost  thou  not  fear  the  power  of  Greece  ? 

Neo.  I  fear 

Nor  Greece  nor  thee,  wlien  I  am  doing  right. 

Uly.  'Tis  not  with  Troy  then  we  contend,  but  thee. 

Neo.  I  know  not  that. 

Uly.  Seest  thou  this  hand  ?  behold. 

It  gi'a.sps  my  sword. 

Neo.  Mine  is  alike  prepared. 

Nor  seeks  delay. 

Uly.  But  I  will  let  thee  go ; 

Greece  shall  know  all  thy  guilt,  and  shall  revenge  it. 

\Exit  Ulysses. 

Scene  II. 

Neoptolemus,  Chorus. 

Neo.  'Twas  well  determined ;  always  be  as  wise 
As  now  thou  art,  and  thou  mayst  Hve  in  safet3\ 

\j\.p'proacliing  towards  the  cave. 
Ho  !  son  of  Paean  !  Philoctetes,  leave 
Thy  rocky  habitation,  and  come  forth. 

Phil,  [from  the  cave^  What  noLse  was  that?     Who 
calls  on  Philoctetes  %  [He  coTties  out. 


Scene  III. 
Philoctetes,  Neoptolemus,  Chorus. 

Phil.  Aks !  what  would  you,  strangers  ?     Are  you 
come 
To  heap  fresh  miseries  on  me  ? 

Neo.  Be  of  comfort, 

And  hear  the  tidings  which  I  bring. 


PHILOCTETES. 


133 


Phil.  I  dare  not ; 

Thy  flattering  tongue  already  hath  betrayed  me. 

Neo.  And  is  there  then  no  room  for  penitence  ? 

Phil.  Such  were  thy  words,  when,  seemingly  sincere, 
Yet  meaning  ill,  thou  stolst  my  arms  away. 

Neo.  But  now  it  is  not  so.     I  only  came 
To  know  if  thou  art  resolute  to  stay. 
Or  sail  with  us. 

Phil.  No  more  of  that ;  'tis  vain 

And  useless  all. 

Neo.  Art  thou  then  fixed? 

Phil.  I  am ; 

It  is  impossible  to  say  how  firmly. 

Neo.  I  thought  I  could  have  moved  thee,  but  I've 
done. 

Phil.  'Tis  well  thou  hast ;  thy  labour  had  been  vain ; 
For  never  could  my  soul  esteem  the  man 
Who  robbed  me  of  my  dearest,  best  possession, 
And  now  would  have  me  listen  to  his  counsels — 
Unworthy  offspring  of  the  best  of  men ! 
Perish  th'  Atridte  !  perish  first  Ulysses ! 
Perish  thyself ! 

Neo.  Withhold  thy  imprecations, 

And  take  thy  arrows  back. 

Phil.  A  second  time 

Wouldst  thou  deceive  me  ? 

Neo.  By  th'  almighty  power 

Of  sacred  Jove  I  swear. 

Phil.  0  joyful  sound  I 

If  thou  sayst  truly. 

Neo.  Let  my  actions  speak. 

Stretch  forth  thy  hand,  and  take  thy  arms  again. 

\Gives  him  the  arrows. 


Scene  IY. 

Ulysses,  Philoctetes,  Neoptolemus,  Chorus. 

Uly.  Witness  ye  gods  !     Here,  in  the  name  of  Greece 
And  the  Atrid?e,  I  forbid  it. 


^34 


PHILOCTETES. 


Phil 


Ha! 


What  voice  is  that  ?     Ulysses'  ? 

Uly.  Aye,  'tis  I — 

I  who  perforce  will  cany  thee  to  Troy 
Spite  of  Achilles'  son. 

PiiiL.  \)'aising  his  arm  as  intending  to  throw  an 
arroio  at  Ulysses].  Not  if  I  aim 
This  shaft  aright. 

Neo.  Now,  by  the  gods,  I  beg  thee 
Stop  thy  rash  hand  !  \_Layiny  hold  of  h  im . 

Phil.  Let  go  my  arm. 

Neo.  I  will  not. 

Phil.  Shall  I  not  slay  my  enemy  ? 

Neo.  Oh,  no ! 

'Twould  cast  dishonour  on  us  both. 

Phil.  Thou  knowst, 

These  Grecian  chiefs  are  loud  pretending  boasters, 
Brave  but  in  tongue,  and  cowards  in  the  field. 

Neo.  I  know  it ;  but  remember,  I  restored 
Thy  arrows  to  thee,  and  thou  hast  no  cause 
For  rage  or  for  complaint  against  thy  friend. 

Phil.  I  own  thy  goodness.     Thou  hast  shown  thyself 
Worthy  thy  birth ;  no  son  of  Sisyphus, 
But  of  Achilles,  who  on  earth  preserved 
A  fame  unspotted,  and  amongst  the  dead 
Still  shines  superior,  an  illustrious  shade. 

Neo.  Joyful  I  thank  thee  for  a  father's  praise, 
And  for  my  own ;  but  listen  to  my  words, 
And  mark  me  well.    Misfortunes,  which  the  gods 
Inflict  on  mortals,  they  perforce  must  bear : 
But  when,  oppressed  by  voluntary  woes, 
They  make  themselves  unhappy,  they  deserve  not 
Our  pity  or  our  pardon.     Such  art  thou. 
Thy  savage  soul,  impatient  of  advice. 
Rejects  the  wholesome  counsel  of  thy  friend, 
And  treats  him  like  a  foe ;  but  I  will  speak, 
Jove  be  my  witness  !    Therefore  hear  my  words, 
And  grave  them  in  thy  heart.     The  dire  disease 
Thou  long  hast  suffered  is  from  angry  heaven, 
Which  thus  aflBicts  thee  for  thy  rash  approach 
To  the  fell  serpent,  which  on  Chrysa's  shore 


PHILOCTETES. 

Watched  o'er  the  sacred  treasures.     Know  baside, 

That  whilst  the  sun  in  yonder  east  shall  rise, 

Or  in  the  west  decline,  distemj>ered  still 

Thou  ever  shalt  remain,  unless  to  Troy 

Thy  willing  mind  transport  thee.    There  the  sons 

Of  ^sculapius  shall  restore  thee — there 

By  my  assistance  shalt  thou  conquer  Troy. 

I  know  it  well ;  for  that  prophetic  sage. 

The  Trojan  captive  Helenus,  foretold 

It  should  be  so.     "  Proud  Troy  (he  added  then) 

This  very  year  must  fall ;  if  not,  my  life 

Shall  answer  for  the  falsehood."  Therefore  yield. 

Thus  to  be  deemed  the  first  of  Grecians,  thus 

By  Paean's  favourite  sons  to  be  restored. 

And  thus  marked  out  the  conqueror  of  Troy, 

Is  sure  distinguished  happiness. 

Phil.  0  life  ! 

Detested,  why  wilt  thou  still  keep  me  here  % 
Why  not  dismiss  me  to  the  tomb  !     Alas  ! 
What  can  I  do  ?     How  can  I  disbelieve 
My  generous  friend  ?     I  must  consent,  and  yet 
Can  I  do  this,  and  look  upon  the  sun  % 
Can  I  behold  my  friends — will  they  forgive. 
Will  they  associate  with  me  after  this  % 
And  you,  ye  heavenly  orbs  that  roll  around  me, 
How  will  ye  bear  to  see  me  linked  with  those 
Who  have  destroyed  me,  e'en  the  sons  of  x\treus, 
E'en  with  Ulysses,  source  of  all  my  woes  % 
My  sufferings  past  I  could  forget ;  but  oh  ! 
I  dread  the  woes  to  come ;  for  well  I  know 
When  once  the  mind  's  corrupted  it  brings  forth 
Unnumbered  crimes,  and  ills  to  ills  succeed. 
It  moves  my  wonder  much  that  thou,  my  friend, 
Shouldst  thus  advise  me,  whom  it  ill  becomes 
To  think  of  Troy.     I  rather  had  believed 
Thou  wouldst  have  sent  me  far,  far  off  fi-om  those 
Who  have  defrauded  thee  of  thy  just  right, 
x\nd  gave  thy  arms  away.     Are  these  the  men 
Whom  thou  wouldst  serve  %  whom  thou  wouldst  thus 

compel  me 
To  save  and  to  defend.  ?     It  must  not  be. 


35 


PHILOCTETES. 


Kemember,  0  my  son  !  the  solemn  oath 
Thou  gav'st  to  bear  me  to  my  native  soil. 
Do  this,  my  friend,  remain  thyself  at  Scyros, 
And  leave  these  Avretches  to  be  wretched  still. 
Thus  shalt  thou  merit  double  thanks,  from  me 
And  from  thy  father ;  nor  by  succour  given 
To  vile  betrayers  j>rove  thyself  as  vile. 

Ned.  Thou  Siiyst  most  truly.     Yet  confide  in  heaven, 
Trust  to  thy  friend,  and  leave  this  hated  place. 

Phil.  Leave  it !    For  whom  ?     Foi-  Troy  and  the 
Atridse  ? 
These  wounds  forbid  it. 

Neo.  They  shall  all  be  healed, 

Where  I  will  carry  thee. 

Phil.  An  idle  tale 

Thou  tellst  me,  surely ;  dost  thou  not  ? 

Neo.  1  speak 

What  best  may  serve  us  both. 

Phil.  But,  speaking  thus, 

Dost  thou  not  fear  th'  oflfended  gods  ? 

Neo.  Why  fear  them  % 

Can  I  offend  the  gods  by  doing  good  ? 

Phil.  What  good  ?     To  whom  %    To  me  or  to  th' 
Atrida3? 

Neo.  I  am  thy  friend,  and  therefore  would  persuade 
thee. 

Phil.  And  therefore  give  me  to  my  foes. 

Neo.  Alas ! 

Let  not  misfortunes  thus  transport  thy  soul 
To  rage  and  bitterness. 

Phil.  Thou  wouldst  destroy  me. 

Neo.  Thou  knowst  me  not. 

Phil.  I  know  th'  Atridee  well. 
Who  left  me  here. 

Neo.  They  did ;  yet  they  perhaps, 

E'en  they,  O  Philoctetes  !  may  preserve  thee. 

Phil.  I  never  will  to  Troy. 

Neo.  What 's  to  be  done  ? 

Since  I  can  ne'er  persuade  thee,  I  submit ; 
Live  on  in  misery. 


PHILUCTKTKS.  137 

Phil.  Then  let  me  suffer ; 

Suffer  I  must ;  but,  oh  !  perform  thy  promise ; 
Think  on  thy  plighted  faith,  and  guard  me  homo 
Instant,  my  friend,  nor  ever  call  back  Troy 
To  my  remembrance  ;  I  have  felt  enough 
From  Troy  already. 

Ned.  Let  us  go ;  prepare  ! 

Phil.  O  glorious  sound ! 

Neo.  Bear  thyself  up. 

Phil.  I  will, 

If  possible. 

Ned.  But  how  sliall  I  escape 

The  wrath  of  Greece  % 

Phil  Oh  !  think  not  of  it. 

NEC.  What 

If  they  should  waste  my  kingdom  ? 

Phil.  I'll  be  there. 

Neo.  Alas !  what  canst  thou  do  % 

Phil.  And  with  these  arrows 

Of  my  Alcides 

Neo.  Ha  !    What  sayst  thou  ? 

Phil.  Drive 

Thy  foes  before  me.     Not  a  Greek  shall  dare 
Approach  thy  borders. 

Neo.  If  thou  wilt  do  this. 

Salute  the  earth,  and  instant  hence.     Away ! 


Scene  IV. 

Hercules,  Ulysses,  Neoptolemus,  Philoctetes, 
Chorus. 

Her.  \desceiiuls  and  s:pe<ijh8\.  Stay,  son  of  Paean  !     Lo 
to  thee  'tis  given 
Once  more  to  see  and  hear  thy  loved  Alcides, 
Who  for  thy  sake  hath  left  yon  heavenly  mansions. 
And  comes  to  tell  thee  the  decrees  of  Jove ; 
To  turn  thee  from  the  paths  thou  meanst  to  tread, 


13?^ 


rffFLOCrETES. 


Ami  guide  thy  footsteps  right.     Therefore  attend. 

Thou  knowst  what  toils,  what  labours  I  endured, 

Ere  I  by  virtue  gained  immortal  fame  ; 

Thou  too  like  me  by  toils  must  lise  to  glory — 

Thou  too  must  suffer,  ere  thou  canst  be  happy; 

Hence  with  thy  friend  to  Troy,  where  honour  calls, 

Where  health  awaits  thee — where,  by  virtue  raised 

To  highest  rank,  and  leader  of  the  war, 

Paris,  its  hateful  author,  shalt  thou  slay, 

Lay  waste  proud  Troy,  and  send  thy  trophies  home, 

Thy  valour's  due  reward,  to  glad  thy  sire 

On  QCta's  top.     The  gifts  which  Greece  bestows 

Must  thou  reserve  to  grace  my  funeral  pile. 

And  be  a  monument  to  after-ages 

Of  these  all-conquering  arms.     Son  of  Achilles 

\turnin(j  to  Neoptolemus 
(For  now  to  thee  I  speak),  remember  this. 
Without  his  aid  thou  canst  not  conquer  Troy, 
Nor  Philoctetes  without  thee  succeed ; 
Go  then,  and,  like  two  lions  in  the  field 
Roaming  for  prey,  guard  ye  each  other  well ; 
My  ^sculapius  will  I  send  e'en  now 
To  heal  thy  wounds.     Then  go,  and  conquer  Troy ; 
But  when  you  lay  the  vanquished  city  waste, 
Be  careful  that  you  venerate  the  gods ; 
For  far  above  all  other  gifts  doth  Jove, 
Th'  almighty  father,  hold  true  piety ; 
Whether  we  live  or  die,  that  still  survives 
Beyond  the  reach  of  fate,  and  is  immortal. 

Neo,  Once  more  to  let  me  hear  that  wished-for  voice, 
To  see  thee  after  so  long  time,  was  bliss 
I  could  not  hope  for.     Oh  !  I  will  obey 
Thy  great  commands  most  willingly. 

Phil.  And  I. 

Her.  Delay  not  then.     For  lo  !  a  prosperous  wind 
Swells  in  thy  sail.     The  time  invites.     Adieu  ! 

[Hercules  reascends. 


PHILOCTETES,  139 


Scene  V. 
Philoctetes,  Ulysses,  Neoptolemus,  Chorus. 

Phil.  I  will  but  pay  my  salutations  here, 
And  instantly  depart.    To  thee,  my  cave, 
Where  I  so  long  have  dwelt,  I  bid  farewell ! 
And  you,  ye  nymphs,  who  on  the  watery  plains 
Deign  to  reside,  farewell !     Farewell  the  noise 
Of  beating  waves,  which  I  so  oft  have  heard 
From  the  rough  sea,  which  by  the  black  wiiids  driven 
O'erw helmed  me,  shivering.     Oft  th'  Hermsean  mount 
Echoed  my  plaintive  voice>  by  wintry  stor^ns 
Afflicted,  and  returned  me  groan  for  groan. 
Now,  ye  fresh  fountains,  each  Lycajan  spring, 
I  leave  you  now.     Alas  !   I  little  thought 
To  leave  you  ever.     And  thou  sea-girt  isle, 
Lemnos,  farewell !     Permit  me  to  depart 
By  thee  unblamed,  and  with  a  prosperous  gale 
To  go  where  fate  demands,  where  kindest  friends 
By  counsel  urge  me,  where  all-powerful  Jove 
In  his  unerring  wisdom  hath  decreed. 

Chor.  Let  us  be  gone,  and  to  the  ocean  nymphs 
Our  humble  prayers  prefer,  that  they  would  all 
Propitious  smile,  and  grant  us  safe  return. 


A 


N  T  I  G  O  N  E. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE. 


Creon,  King  of  Thehes. 
EuRYDiCE,  Wife  of  Creon. 
H^MON,  Son  of  Creon. 
Antigone,  Daughter  of  (Edij^us. 
IsMENE,  Siiter  of  Antigone. 


TiRESiAS,  a  PropJiet. 

A  Messenger,  Guard,   Ser- 
vant, and  Attendants. 

Chorus,  composed  of  Ancient 
Men  of  Thebes. 


ACT   I. 


Scene  I. 


Antigone,  Isjiene. 

Antigone.  0  my  dear  sister,  my  best-beloved  Ismene .' 
Is  there  an  evil,  by  the  tvrath  of  Jove 
Reserved  for  Ql]dipus'  unhappy  race, 
We  have  not  felt  already  ?     Sorrow  and  shame, 
And  bitterness  and  anguish,  all  that's  sad. 
All  that's  distressful,  hath  been  ours,  and  now 
This  dreadful  edict  from  the  tyrant  comes 
To  double  our  misfortunes.     Hast  thou  heard 
What  harsh  commands  he  hath  imposed  on  all. 
Or  art  thou  still  to  know  what  future  ills 
Our  foes  have  vet  in  store  to  make  us  wretched  ? 


ANTIGONE. 


Ism.  8ince  that  unhappy  day,  Antigone, 
When  by  each  otlier's  hand  our  brothei's  fell, 
And  Greece  dismissed  her  armies^  I  have  heard 
Naught  that  could  give  or  joy  or  grief  to  me. 

Ant.  1  thought  thou  wert  a  stranger  to  the  tidings, 
And  therefore  called  thee  forth,  that  here  alone 
I  might  impart  them  to  thee. 

Ism.  Oh  !  what  are  they  ? 

For  something  dreadful  labours  in  thy  breast. 

Ant.  Know  then,  from  Creon,  our  indulgent  lord, 
Our  hapless  brothers  met  a  different  fate : 
To  honour  one,  and  one  to  infamy 
He  hath  consigned.     With  funeral  rites  he  graced 
The  body  of  our  dear  Eteocles, 
Whilst  Polynices'  wretched  carcase  lies 
Unburied,  unlamented,  left  exposed 
A  feast  for  hungry  vultures  on  the  plain. 
No  pitying  friend  will  dare  to  violate 
The  tyrant's  harsh  command,  for  public  death 
Awaits  th'  offender.     Creon  comes  himself 
To  tell  us  of  it — such  is  our  condition. 
,  This  is  the  crisis,  this  the  hour,  Ismene, 
,  That  must  declare  thee  worthy  of  thy  birth, 
I  Or  show  thee  mean,  base,  and  degenerate. 

Ism.  What  wouldst  thou  have  me  do  ? — defy  his 
power  % 
Contemn  the  laws  ? 

Ant.  To  act  with  me,  or  not : 

Consider  and  resolve. 

Ism.  What  daring  deed 

Wouldst  thou  attempt  %     What  is  it  %     Speak  ! 

Ant.  To  join 

And  take  the  body,  my  Ismene. 

Ism.  Ha ! 

And  wouldst  thou  dare  to  bury  it,  when  thus 
We  are  forbidden  % 

Ant.  Aye,  to  bury  Mm  ! 

He  is  my  brother,  and  thine  too,  Ismene ; 
Therefore,  consent  or  not,  I  have  determined 
I'll  not  disgrace  my  birth. 

Ism.  Hath  not  the  king 

Pronounced  it  death  to  all  % 


ANTIGONE. 

Ant.  He  hath  no  right, 

No  power  to  keep  me  from  my  own. 

Ism.  Alas ! 

Remember  our  unhappy  father's  fate : 
His  eyes  torn  out  by  his  own  fatal  hand, 
Oppressed  with  shame  and  infamy  he  died ; 
Fruit  of  his  crimes !  a  mother,  and  a  wife — 
Dreadful  alliance  ! — self-devoted,  fell ; 
And  last,  in  one  sad  day,  Eteocles 
And  Polynices  by  each  other  slain. 
Left  as  we  are,  deserted  and  forlorn. 
What  from  our  disobedience  can  we  hope 
But  misery  and  ruin  %     Poor  weak  women, 
Helpless,  nor  formed  by  nature  to  contend 
With  powerful  man.     We  are  his  subjects  too. 
Therefore  to  this,  and  worse  than  this,  my  sister, 
We  must  submit.     For  me,  ii^  humblest  prajgr 
Will  I  address  mf»  to  th'  infernal  po^^-g"^""'^ 
For  pardon  of  that  crime  which  well  they  know 
Sprang  from  nec^^ssity,  and  then  obey ; 
Since  to  attempt  what  we  can  never  hope 
To  execute,  is  folly  all  and  madness. 

Ant.  Wert  thou  to  proffer  what  I  do  not  ask— < 
Thy  poor  assistance — I  would  scorn  it  now. 
Act  as  thou  wilt ;  I'll  bury  him  myself ; 
Let  me  perform  but  that,  and  death  is  welcome  : 
I'll  do  the  pious  deed,  and  lay  me  down 
By  my  dear  brother.     Loving  and  beloved 
We'll  rest  together ;  to  the  powers  below 
'Tis  fit  we  pay  obedience ;  longer  there 
We  must  remain  than  we  can  breathe  on  earth. 
There  I  shall  dwell  for  ever;  thou,  meantime, 
What  the  gods  hold  most  precious  mayst  despise. 

ISM.  I  reverence  the  gods ;  but,  in  defiance 
Of  laws,  and  unassisted  to  do  this, 
Tt  were  most  dangerous. 

Ant.  That  be  thy  excuse, 

Whilst  I  prepare  the  funeral  pile. 

Ism.  Alas  ! 

I  tremble  for  thee. 

Ant.  Tremble  for  thyself, 

And  not  for  me. 


143 


ANTIGONE. 

Isii.  Oh  !  do  not  tell  thy  purpose, 

I  beg  thee,  do  not .  T  shall  ne'er  betray  thee. 

Ant.   I'd  have  it  known ;   and  1  shall  hat-e  thee 
more 
^or  thy  concealment,  than,  if  loud  to  all, 
Thou  wouldst  proclaim  the  deed. 

Ism.  Thou  hast  a  heart 

Too  daring,  and  ill-suited  to  thy  fate. 

Ant.  I  know  my  duty,  and  I'll  pay  it  there 
Where  'twill  be  best  accepted. 

Ism.  Couldst  thou  do  it ! 

But  'tis  not  in  thy  power. 

Ant.  When  I  know  that 

It  will  be  time  enough  to  quit  my  purpose. 

IsM.  It  cannot  be ;  'tis  folly  to  attempt  it. 

Ant.  Go  on,  and  I  shall  hate  thee  !  Our  dead  brother, 
He  too  shall  hate  thee  as  his  bitterest  foe  ; 
Go,  leave  me  here  to  suffer  for  my  rashness ; 
Whate'er  befalls,  it  cannot  be  so  dreadful 
As  not  to  die  with  honour. 

IsM.  Then  farewell, 

Since  thou  wilt  have  it  so ;  and  know,  Ismene 
Pities  thy  weakness,  but  admires  thy  virtue.       [Exeunt. 


Scene   II. 


Chorus. 


Strophe  i. 

By  Diice's  sweetly-flowing  stream, 

Ne'er  did  the  golden  eye  of  day 
On  Thfcbes  with  fairer  lustre  beam, 

Or  shine  with  more  auspicious  ray. 
See  the  proud  Argive,  with  his  silver  shield 

And  glittering  armour,  quits  the  hostile  plain; 
No  longer  dares  maintain  the  luckless  field, 

But  vanquished  flies,  nor  checks  the  loosened  rein. 
With  dreadful  clangour,  like  the  bird  of  Jove, 
On  snowy  wings  descending  from  above, 


ANTIGONE.  145 

His  vaunted  powers  to  this  devoted  land, 

In  bitterest  wrath  did  Polynices  lead, 
With  crested  helmets,  and  a  numerous  band 

He  came,  and  fondly  hoped  that  Thebes  sl^puld 
bleed.  , 

Antistro'phe,  i. 

High  on  the  lofty  tower  he  stood, 

And  viewed  th'  encircled  gates  below, 
With  spears  that  thirsted  for  our  blood, 

And  seemed  to  scorn  th'  unequal  foe ; 
But,  fraught  with  vengeance^  ere  the  rising  flame 

Could  waste  our  bulwarks,  or  our  walls  surround, 
Mars  to  assist  the  fiery  serpent  came, 

And  brought  the  towering  eagle  to  the  ground. 
That  god  who  hates  the  boastings  of  the  proud 
Saw  the  rude  violence  of  th'  exulting  crowd ; 

Already  now  the  triumph  was  prepared. 
The  wreath  of  victory  and  the  festal  song, 

When  Jove  the  clash  of  golden  armour  heard. 
And  hurled  his  thunder  on  the  guilty  throng. 


Stro2yhe  2. 

Then  Capaneus,  elate  with  pride, 

Fierce  as  the  rapid  whirlwind  came, 
Eager  he  seemed  on  every  side 

To  spread  the  all-  devouring  flame  ; 
But  soon  he  felt  the  winged  lightning's  blast, 

By  angry  heaven  with  speedy  vengeance  sent — 
Down  from  the  lofty  turrets  headlong  cast. 

For  his  foul  crimes  he  met  the  punishment. 
Each  at  his  gate,  long  time  the  leaders  strove, 
Then  fled,  and  left  their  arms  to  conquering  Jove ; 

Save  the  unhappy  death-devoted  pair, 

The  wretched  brethren,  who  unconquered  stood. 

With  rancorous  hate  inspired,  and  fell  despair. 
They  reeked  their  vengeance  in  each  other's  blood. 


14*^ 


ANTIGONE, 


AntistropJie  2. 

And  lo !  with  smiles  propitious  see 

To  Thebes,  for  numerous  cars  renowned, 
The  goddess  comes,  fair  Victory, 

Witli  fame  and  endless  glory  crowned  ! 
Henceforth,  no  longer  vexed  by  war's  alarms, 

Let  all  our  sorrows,  all  our  labours  cease ; 
Come,  let  us  quit  the  din  of  rattling  arms, 

And  fill  our  temples  with  the  songs  of  peace. 
The  god  of  Thebes  shall  guide  our  steps  aright, 
And  crown  with  many  a  lay  the  festive  night. 

But  see,  still  anxious  for  his  native  land, 
Our  king,  Menfeceus'  valiant  son,  appear  ; 

With  some  fair  omen  by  the  gods'  command 

He  comes  to  met  his  aged  council  here.     [Exeunt. 


ACT    II. 


Scene  I. 


Creon,  Chorus 

Creon.  At  length  our  empire,  shook  by  civil  broils. 
The  gods  to  peace  and  safety  have  restored ; 
Wherefore,  my  friends,  you  had  our  late  request 
That  you  should  meet  us  here  ;  for  well  I  know 
Your  firm  allegiance  to  great  Laius,  next 
To  (Edipus,  and  his  unhappy  sons ; 
These  by  each  other's  hand  untimely  slain, 
To  me  the  sceptre  doth  of  right  descend, 
As  next  in  blood.     Never  can  man  be  know, 
His  mind,  his  will,  his  passions  ne'er  appear 
Till  power  and  office  call  them  forth  ;  for  me, 
'Tis  my  firm  thought,  and  I  have  held  it  ever, 
That  he  who  rules  and  doth  not  follow  that 


ANTIGONE.  147 

Which  wisdom  counsels,  but,  restrained  by  fear, 
Shuts  up  his  lips,  must  be  the  worst  of  men ; 
Nor  do  I  deem  him  worthy  who  prefers 
A  friend,  how  dear  soever,  to  his  country. 
Should  I  behold — witness  all-seeing  Jove ! — 
This  city  wronged,  I  never  would  be  silent, 
Never  would  make  the  foe  of  Thebes  my  friend, 
For  on  her  safety  must  depend  our  own  j 
And  if  she  flourish  we  can  never  want 
Assistance  or  support.     Thus  would  I  act, 
And  therefore  have  I  sent  my  edict  forth 
Touching  the  sons  of  OEdipus,  commanding 
That  they  should  bury  him  who  nobly  fought 
And  died  for  Thebes,  the  good  Eteocles, 
Gracing  his  memory  with  each  honour  due 
To  the  illustrious  dead.     For  Polynices, 
Abandoned  exile,  for  a  brother's  blood 
Thirsting  insatiate — he  who  would  in  flames 
Have  wasted  all,  his  country  and  his  gods. 
And  made  you  slaves — I  have  decreed  he  lie 
Unburied,  his  vile  carcase  to  the  birds 
And  hungry  dogs  a  prey.     There  let  him  rot 
Inglorious — 'tis  my  will ;  for  ne'er  from  me 
Shall  vice  inherit  virtue's  due  reward, 
But  him  alone  who  is  a  friend  to  Thebes, 
Living  or  dead  shall  Creon  reverence  still. 

Choe.  Son  of  Menseceus,  'twas  thy  great  behest 
Thus  to  reward  them  both ;  thine  is  the  power 
O'er  all  supreme,  the  living  and  the  dead. 

Creon.  Be  careful  then  my  orders  are  obeyed. 

Chor.  0  sir  !  to  younger  hands  commit  the  task. 

Creon.  I  have  appointed  some  to  watch  the  body. 

Chor.  What  then  remains  for  us  ? 

Creon.  To  see  that  none 

By  your  connivance  violate  the  law. 

Chor.  Scarce  will  the  man  be  found  so  fond  of  death 
As  to  attempt  it. 

Creon.  Death  is  the  reward 

Of  him  who  dares  it  j  but  oftimes  by  hope 
Of  sordid  gain  are  men  betrayed  to  ruin. 


'/ 


148  ANTIGONE. 

SCBNS  II. 
Messenger,  Creon,  Chorus. 

Mes.  O  king  !  I  cannot  boast  that  hither  sent 
I  came  with  speed,  for  oft  my  troubled  thoughts 
Have  driven  me  back  ;  oft  to  myself  I  said, 
Why  dost  thou  seek  destruction  ?    Yet  again 
If  thou  report  it  not,  from  other  tongues 
Creon  must  hear  the  tale,  and  thou  wilt  sutier. 
With  doubts  like  these  oppressed,  slowly  I  came, 
And  the  short  way  seemed  like  a  tedious  journey ; 
At  length  I  come,  resolved  to  tell  thee  all : 
Whate'er  the  event,  1  must  submit  to  fate. 

Creon.  Whence  are  thy  fears,  and  why  this  hesita- 
^Eionl 

Mes.  First  for  myself ;  I  merit  not  thy  wrath  ; 
It  was  not  I,  nor  have  I  seen  the  man 
Who  did  the  guilty  deed. 

Creon.  Something  of  weight 

Thou  hast  t'  impart,  by  this  unusual  care 
To  guard  thee  from  our  anger. 

Mes.  Fear  will  come 

Where  danger  is. 

Creon.  Speak,  and  thou  hast  thy  pardon. 

Mes.  The  body  of  Polynices  some  rash  hand 
Hath  buried,  scattered  o'er  his  corpse  the  dust, 
And  funeral  rites  performed. 

Creon.  Who  dared  do  this  ? 

Mes.  'Tis  yet  unknown ;  no  mark  of  instrument 
Is  left  behind  :  the  earth  still  level  all, 
Nor  worn  by  track  of  chariot  wheel.     The  guard, 
Who  watched  that  day,  call  it  a  miracle  ; 
No  tomb  was  raised ;  light  lay  the  scattered  earth, 
As  only  meant  to  avoid  the  imputed  curse ; 
Nor  could  we  trace  the  steps  of  dog  or  bea.st 
Passing  that  way.     Instant  a  tumult  rose  ; 
The  guards  accused  each  other ;  nought  was  proved, 
But  each  suspected  each,  and  all  denied, 
Offering,  in  proof  of  innocence,  to  grasp 


*^iii££II^i^-^      ANTIGONE.  149 

The  burning  steel,  to  walk  through  fire,  and  take 
Their  solemn  oath  they  knew  not  of  the  deed  ; 
At  length,  one  mightier  than  the  rest,  proposed — 
Nor  could  we  think  of  better  means — that  all 
Should  be  to  thee  discovered  ;  'twas  my  lot 
To  bring  th'  unwelcome  tidings,  and  I  come 
To  pour  my  news  unwilling  into  ears 
Unwilling  to  receive  it,  for  1  know 
None  ever  loved  the  messenger  of  ill. 

Chor.  To  me  it  seems  as  if  the  hand  of  heaven  \ 
Were  in  this  deed.  i 

Creon.  Be  silent,  ere  my  rage, 

Thou  rash  old  man,  pronounce  thee  fool  and  dotard  ; 
Horrid  suggestion  !     Think'st  thou,  then,  the  gods    \ 
Take  care  of  men  like  these  %     Would  they  preserve 
Or  honour  him  who  came  to  burn  their  altars, 
Profane  their  rites,  and  trample  on  their  laws  ? 
Will  they  reward  the  bad  %     it  cannot  be. 
But  well  I  know  the  murmuring  citizens 
Brooked  not  our  mandate,  shook  their  heads  in 

secret. 
And,  ill-affected  to  me,  would  not  stoop 
Their  haughty  crests,  or  bend  beneath  my  yoke. 
By  hire  corrupted,  some  of  these  have  dared 
The  venturous  deed.  (  Gold  is  the  worst  of  ills  ^ 
That  ever  plagued  mankind  :^this  wastes  our  cities, 
Diives  forth  their  natives  to  a  foreign  soil, 
Taints  the  pure  heart,  and  turns  the  virtuous  mind 
To  basest  deeds  )  artificer  of  fraud 
Supreme,  and  source  of  every  wickedness.  ^ 
The  wretch  corrupted  for  this  hateful  purpose 
Must  one  day  suffer ;  foi-,  observe  me  well. 
As  I  revere  that  power  by  whom  I  swear, 
Almighty  Jove,  if  you  conceal  him  from  me. 
If  to  my  eyes  you  do  not  bring  the  traitor. 
Know,  death  alone  shall  not  suffice  to  glut 
My  vengeance ;  Uving  shall  you  hang  in  torments 
Till  you  confess,  till  you  have  learned  from  me 
There  is  a  profit  not  to  be  desired. 
And  own  dishonest  gains  have  ruined  more 
Than  they  have  saved. 


I50 


ANTIGONE. 


Mes. 


0  king  !  may  I  depart, 


Or  wait  thy  further  orders 

Creon.  Knowst  thou  not 

Thy  speech  is  hateful  \     Hence ! 

Mes.  Wherefore,  my  lord  % 

CiiEON.  Know  you  not  why  % 

Mes.  I  but  offend  your  ear, 

They  who  have  done  the  deed  afllict  your  soul. 

Creon.  Away  !     Thy  talk  but  makes  thy  guilt  appear. 

Mes.  My  lord,  I  did  not  do  it. 

Creon.  Thou  hast  sold 

Thy  life  for  gain. 

Mes.  'Tis  cruel  to  suspect  me. 

Creon.  Thou  talkst  it  bravely ;  but  remember  all, 
'Unless  you  do  produce  him,  you  shall  find 
The  miseries  which  on  ill-got  wealth  await.  \Exit. 

Mes.  Would  he  were  found.     That  we  must  leave  to 
fate ; 
Be  it  as  it  may,  I  never  will  return  : 
Thus  safe  beyond  my  hopes,  'tis  fit  I  pay 
My  thanks  to  the  kind  gods  who  have  preserved  me. 

\Exit. 


Scene    III. 


Chorus. 


Strophe  i. 

Since  first  this  active  world  began. 
Nature  is  busy  all  in  every  part ; 
But  passing  all  in  wisdom  and  in  art, 
Superior  shines  inventive  man : 
Fearless  oibvintry  winds  and  circling  waves, 
le  ocean  and  the  tempest  braves ; 
'him  unwearied  earth  with  lavish  hand, 
Immortal  goddess,  all  her'bounty  pours. 
Patient  beneath  the  rigid  plough's  command, 
Year  after  year  she  yields  her  plenteous  stores. 


ANTIGONE.  151 

AiitistrojyJie  i. 

To  drive  the  natives  of  the  wood 
From  their  rude  haunts,  or  in  the  cruel  snare, 
To  catch  the  winged  inhabitants  of  air, 
Or  trap  the  scaly  brood ; 
To  tame  the  fiery  courser  yet  unbroke 
With  the  hard  rein,  or  to  the  untried  yoke 
To  bend  the  mountain  bull,  who  wildly  free 

O'er  the  steep  rocks  had  wandered  unconfined — 
These  are  the  arts  of  mortal  industry, 

And  such  the  subtle  power  of  humankind. 

Stroj)lie  2. 

By  learning,  and  fair  science  crowned. 
Behold  him  now  full-fraught  with  wisdom's  lore, 
The  laws  of  nature  anxious  to  explore. 
With  depth  of  thought  profound. 
But  naught,  alas  !  can  human  wisdom  see 
In  the  dark  bosom  of  futurity. 

The  power  of  wisdom  may  awhile  prevail, 

Awhile  suspend  a  mortal's  fleeting  breath, 
But  never  can  her  fruitless  arts  avail 

To  conquer  fate,  or  stop  the  hand  of  death. 

Antistroplie.  2. 

Man's  ever-active  changeful  will 
Sometimes  to  good  shall  bend  his  virtuous  mind, 
Sometimes  behold  him  to  foul  deeds  inclined. 
And  prone  to  every  ill. 
Who  guiltless  keeps  the  laws  is  still  approved 
By  every  tongue,  and  by  his  country  loved  ; 
But  he  who  doth  not,  from  his  native  land 
A  wretched  exile,  far,  oh  !  far  from  me 
May  he  be  driven,  by  angry  Heaven's  command,- 
And  live  devote  to  shame  and  infamy ! 

Chor.  Amazement !     Can  it  be  Antigone  ? 
Or  do  my  eyes  deceive  me  ?     No,  she  comes. 
O  !  wretched  daughter  of  a  wretched  father  ! 
Hast  thou  trangressed  the  laws,  and  art  thou  ta'en 
In  this  adventurous  deed,  unhappy  maid  ? 


152  ANTIGONE, 

Scene  IV. 
Antigone,  Guard,  Chorus. 

Guard.  Behold  tho  woman  who  hath  done  the  deed  ! 
I'  th'  very  act  of  burial  we  surprised  her. 
Where  is  the  king  ? 

Chor.  Returned,  as  we  could  wish ; 

E'en  now  he  comes  this  way. 

Scene  V. 
Creon,  Antigone,  Guard,  Chorus. 

Creon.  Whom  have  we  here  ? 

Doth  justice  smile  upon  usi 

Guard.  0  my  lord  ! 

Never  should  man  too  confident  assert, 
Much  less  by  oath  should  bind  himself  to  aught, 
For  soon  our  judgments  change,  and  one  opinion 
Destroys  another.     By  thy  threats  alarmed 
But  now,  I  vowed  I  never  would  return ; 
Yet  thus  preserved  beyond  my  hopes,  I  come, 
Bound  by  that  duty  which  I  owe  to  thee 
And  to  my  country,  to  bring  here  this  virgin. 
Whom,  as  she  sprinkled  o'er  her  brother's  dust 
The  varied  wreath,  we  seized.     The  wilKng  task 
Was  mine,  nor  as  of  late  by  lot  determined. 
Receive  her  then,  0  king !     Judge  and  condemn 
The  guilty  as  it  best  becomes  thy  wisdom ; 
Henceforth  I  stand  acquitted. 

Creon.  But  say  how, 

Where  didst  thou  find  her  ? 

Guard.  To  say  all,  'twas  she 

Who  buried  Polynices. 

Creon.  Art  thou  sure  ? 

Guard.  These  eyes  beheld  her. 

Creon.  But  say,  how  discovered  ? 

(5  uard.  Thus  then  it  waa,     No  sooner  had  J  left  thee 


ANTIGONE.  £53 

Than,  mindful  of  thy  wrath,  with  careful  hands 

From  off  the  putrid  carcase  we  removed 

The  scattered  dust ;  then,  to  avoid  the  stench, 

ExhaHng  noisome,  to  a  hill  retired ; 

There  watched  at  distance,  till  the  mid-day  sun 

Scorched  o'er  our  heads.     Sudden  a  storm  arose, 

vShook  every  leaf,  and  rattled  through  the  grove, 

Filling  the  troubled  element.     We  closed 

Our  eyes,  and  patient  bore  the  wrath  of  heaven. 

At  length  the  tempest  ceased,  when  we  beheld 

This  virgin  issuing  forth,  and  heard  her  cries 

Distressful,  like  the  plaintive  bird  who  views 

The  plundered  nest,  and  mourns  her  ravished  young. 

E'en  thus  the  maid,  when  on  the  naked  corse 

She  cast  her  eyes,  loud  shrieked,  and  cursed  the  hand 

That  did  the  impious  deed,  then  sprinkled  o'er 

The  crumbled  earth,  and  from  a  brazen  urn, 

Of  lichest  work,  to  the  levied  relics  thrice 

Her  due  libations  poured.     We  saw,  and  straight 

Pursued  her.     XJnappalled  she  seemed,  and  still 

As  we  did  question  her,  confessed  it  all. 

It  pleased,  and  yet  methought  it  grieved  me  too. 

To  find  ourselves  released  from  woe  is  bliss 

Supreme,  but  thus  to  see  our  friends  unhappy 

Embitters  all.     I  must  be  thankful  still 

For  my  own  safety,  which  I  hold  most  dear. 

Creon.  Speak  thou,  who  bendst  to  earth  thy  droopiiig 
head; 
Dost  thou  deny  the  fact  1 

Ant.  Deny  it  ?     No ! 

'Twas  I. 

Creon.  \to  the  Guard].  Retire,  for  thou  art  free  ;  and 
now  \tur7iing  to  Antigone 

Be  brief,  and  tell  me ;  heardst  thou  our  decree  ? 

Ant.  I  did ;  'twas  public.     How  could  I  avoid  it  ] 

Creon.  And  dar'st  thou  then  to  disobey  the  law  ? 

Ant.  I  had  it  not  from  Jove,  nor  the  just  gods 
Who  rule  below ;  nor  could  I  ever  think 
A  mortal's  law  of  power  or  strength  sufficient 
To  abrogate  th*  unwritten  law  divine, 
Immutable,  eternal,  not  like  these 


1^4 


ANTIGONE. 


Of 


yesterday, 
ill  man  pei 


but  made  ere  time  began. 


Heaven's  great  commands, 


violate 
and  make  the  gods  my  foes  ? 
Without  thy  mandate,  death  had  one  day  come ; 
For  who  shall  'scape  it  ?  and  if  now  I  fall 
A  little  sooner,  'tis  the  thing  I  wish. 
To  those  who  live  in  misery  like  me, 
Believe  me,  king,  'tis  happiness  to  die ; 
Without  remorse  I  shall  embrace  my  fate; 
But  to  my  brother  had  I  left  the  rites 
Of  sepulture  unpaid,  I  then  indeed 
Had  been  most  wretched.    Tliis  to  thee  may  seem 
Madness  and  folly.    If  it  be,  'tis  fit 
I  should  act  thus — it  but  resembles  thee. 

Creon.  Sprung  from  a  sire  perverse  and  obstinate, 
Like  him  she  cannot  bend  beneath  misfortune ; 
But  know,  the  proudest  hearts  may  be  subdued ; 
Hast  thou  not  marked  the  hardest  steel  by  fire 
Made  soft  and  flexible  ?     Myself  have  seen 
By  a  slight  rein  the  fiery  courser  held. 
"Ks  not  for  slaves  to  be  so  haughty ;  yet 
This  proud  offender,  not  content,  it  seems, 
To  violate  my  laws,  adds  crime  to  crime, 
Smiles  at  my  threats,  and  glories  in  her  guilt  ; 
If  I  should  suffer  her  to  'scape  my  vengeance, 
She  were  the  man,  not  I ;  but  though  she  sprang 
E'en  from  my  sister,  were  I  bound  to  her 
By  ties  more  dear  than  is  Hercsean  Jove, 
She  should  not  'scape.     Her  sister  too  I  find 
Accomplice  in  the  deed — go,  call  her  forth  ! 

\to  one,  of  the  Attendants 
She  is  within,  I  saw  her  ra\dng  there, 
Her  senses  lost,  the  common  fate  of  those 
Who  practise  dark  and  deadly  wickedness. 

\Turning  to  Antigone. 
I  cannot  bear  to  see  the  guilty  stand 
Convicted  of  their  crimes,  and  yet  pretend 
To  gloss  them  o'er  with  specious  names  of  virtue. 

Ant.  I  am  thy  captive  ;  thou  wouldst  have  my  life  ; 
Will  that  content  thee  % 

Creon.  Yes ;  tis  all  I  wish. 


ANTIGONE.  155 

Ant.  Why  this  delay  then,  when  thou  knowst  my 
To  thee  as  hateful  are  as  thine  to  me  %  \  [words 

Therefore  dispatch ;  I  cannot  live  to  do 
A  deed  more  glorious ;  and  so  these  would  all 

\jpointing  to  the,  CflORUS 
Confess,  were  not  their  tongues  restrained  by  fear ; 
It  is  the  tyrant's  privilege,  we  know. 
To  speak  and  act  whate'er  he  please,  uncensured. 

Creon.  Lives  there  another  in  the  land  of  Thebes 
Who  thinks  as  thou  dost  % 

Ant.  Yes,  a  thousand  ;  these — 

These  think  so  too,  but  dare  not  utter  it. 

Creon.  Dost  thou  not  blush  % 

Ant.  For  what  %     Why  blush  to  pay 

A  sister's  duty  1 

Creon.  But,  Eteocles ! 

Say,  was  not  he  thy  brother  too  % 

Ant.  He  was. 

Creon.  Why  then  thus  reverence  him  who  least  de- 
served it  % 

Ant.  Perhaps  that  brother  thinks  not  so. 

Creon.  He  must, 

If  thou  payst  equal  honour  to  them  both. 

Ant.  He  was  a  brother,  not  a  slave. 

Creon.  One  fought 

Against  that  country  which  the  other  saved. 

Ant.  But  equal  death  the  rites  of  sepulture 
Decrees  to  both. 

Creon.  What !     Eeverence  alike 

The  guilty  and  the  innocent ! 

Ant.  Perhaps 

The  gods  below  esteem  it  just. 

Creon.  A  foe. 

Though  dead,  should  as  a  foe  be  treated  still. 

Ant.  My  love  shall  go  with  thine,  but  not  my  hate. 

Creon.  Go  then, and  love  them  in  the  tomb !   But  know, 
No  woman  rules  in  Thebes  whilst  Creon  lives. 

Chor.  Lo  !     At  the  portal  stands  the  fair  Ismene, 
Tears  in  her  lovely  eyes,  a  cloud  of  grief 
Sits  on  her  brow,  wetting  her  beauteous  cheek 
With  pious  sorrow  for  a  sister's  fate. 


156  ANTIGONE, 

Scene  VI. 
IsMENE,  Antigone,  Creon,  Chorus. 

Creon    Come  forth,  thou  serpent !    Little  did  I  think 
That  I  had  nourished  two  such  deadly  foes 
To  suck  my  blood,  and  cast  me  from  my  throne. 
"What  sayst  thou  %     Wert  thou  accomplice  in  the  deed, 
Or  wilt  thou  swear  that  thou  ait  innocent  ? 

Ism.  I  do  acknowledge  it,  if  she  permit  me ; 
I  w^as  accomplice,  and  the  crime  was  mine. 

Ant.  'Tis  false ;  thou  didst  refuse,  nor  would  I  hold 
Communion  with  thee. 

IsM.  But  in  thy  misfortunes 

Let  me  partake,  my  sister  ;  let  me  be 
A  fellow-sufferer  with  thee. 

Ant.  Witness,  death, 

And  ye  infernal  gods,  to  which  belongs 
The  great,  the  glorious  deed  !     I  do  not  love 
These  friends  in  word  alone. 

IsM.  Antigone, 

Do  not  despise  me ;   I  but  ask  to  die 
With  thee,  and  pay  due  honours  to  the  dead. 

Ant.  Pretend  not  to  a  merit  which  thou  hast  not. 
Live  thou ;  it  is  enough  for  me  to  perish. 

IsM.  But  what  is  life  without  thee  ? 

Ant.  Ask  thy  friend 

And  patron  there.  \Pointing  to  Creon. 

Ism,  Why  that  unkind  reproach, 

When  tbou  shouldst  rather  comfort  me  % 

Ant.  Alas  1 

It  gives  me  pain  when  I  am  forced  to  speak 
80  bitterly  against  thee. 

IsM.  Is  there  aught 

That  I  can  do  to  save  thee  % 

Ant.  Save  thyself, 

I  shall  not  envy  thee. 

Ism.  And  will  you  not 

Pe>mit  me  then  to  share  your  fate  ? 


ANTIGONE, 

Ant.  Thy  choice 

Was  life.     'Tis  mine  to  die. 

Ism.  T  told  thee  oft 

It  would  be  so. 

Ant.  Thou  didst,  and  was  't  not  well 

Thus  to  fulfil  thy  prophecy  ? 

Ism.  The  crime 

Was  mutual ;  mutual  be  the  punishment. 

Ant.    Fear  not.     Thy  Hfe  is  safe,  but  mine  long 
since 
Devoted  to  the  dead. 

Creon.  Both  seem  deprived 

Of  reason.     One  indeed  was  ever  thus. 

Ism.    0  king !    (The  mind  doth  seldom  keep  her 
seat  ^ 

When  sunk  beneath  misfortunes.)    i-. 

Creon.  Sunk  indeed 

Thou  wert  in  wretchedness  to  join  with  her. 

Ism.  But  what  is  hfe  without  Antigone? 

Creon.  Then  think  not  of  it.     For  she  is  no  more. 

Ism.  Wouldst  thou  destroy  thy  son's  long-destined 
wife  %  • 

Creon.  Oh  !  we  shall  find  a  fitter  bride. 

Ism.  Alas ! 

He  will  not  think  so. 

Creon.  I'll  not  wed  my  son 

To  a  base  woman. 

Ant.  0  my  dearest  Hsemon  ! 

And  is  it  thus  thy  father  doth  disgrace  thee  ? 

Creon.  Such  an  alliance  were  as  hateful  to  me 
As  is  thyself.    . 

Ism.  Wilt  thou  then  take  her  from  him  ? 

Creon.  Their  nuptials  shall  be  finished  by  death. 

Ism.  She  then  must  perish  ? 

Creon.  ^o  must  you  and  I ; 

Therefore  no  more  delay.     Go,  take  them  hence ; 
Confine  them  both.     Henceforth  they  shall  not  stir ; 
When  death  is  near  at  hand  the  bravest  fly. 


157 


158 


ANTIGONE. 


Chorus. 

Strojilie  r. 

Thrice  bappy  they,  whose  days  in  pleasure  flow, 
Wlio  never  taste  the  bitter  cup  of  woe ; 

For  when  the  wrath  of  heaven  descends 
On  some  devoted  house,  there  foul  disgrace, 

With  grief  and  all  her  train  attends, 
And  shame  and  sorrow  o'erwhelm  the  wretched  race. 

E'en  as  the  Thracian  sea,  when  vexed  with  storms. 
Whilst  darkness  hangs  incumbent  o'er  the  deep. 

When  the  black  north  the  troubled  scene  deforms, 
And  the  black  sands  in  rapid  whirlwinds  sweep. 

The  groaning  waves  beat  on  the  trembling  shore, 

And  echoing  hills  rebellow  to  the  roar. 

Antistrophe  i. 

0  Labdacus  !  thy  house  must  perish  all — 
E'en  now  I  see  the  stately  ruin  fall ; 
Shame  heaped  on  shame,  and  ill  on  ill, 

Disgrace  and  never-ending  woes ; 
Some  angry  god  pursues  thee  still. 

Nor  grants  or  safety  or  repose. 
One  fair  and  lovely  branch  unwithered  stood 

And  braved  th'  inclement  skies ; 
But  Pluto  comes,  inexorable  god — 

She  sinks,  she  raves,  she  dies. 

Strcyphe  2. 
Shall  man  below  control  the  gods  above, 

Whose  eyes  by  all- subduing  sleep 
Are  never  closed  as  feeble  mortals'  are, 

But  still  their  watchful  vigils  keep 
Through  the  large  circle  of  th'  eternal  year  ! 

Great  lord  of  all,  whom  neither  time  nor  age 
With  envious  stroke  can  weaken  or  decay ; 

He  who  alone  the  future  can  presage. 
Who  knows  alike  to-morrow  as  to-day ; 

Whilst  wretched  man  is  doomed,  by  Heaven's  decree. 

To  toil  and  pain,  to  sin  and  misery. 


ANTIGONE.  159 


Antistrophe  2. 

Of  times  the  flatterer  Hope,  that  joy  inspires, 
Fills  the  proud  heart  of  man  with  fond  desires ; 
He,  careless  traveller,  wanders  still 

Through  life,  unmindful  of  deceit, 
Nor  dreads  the  danger,  till  he  feel 
The  burning  sands  beneath  his  feet. 
When  heaven  impels  to  guilt  the  maddening  mind. 

Then  good  like  ill  appears. 
And  vice,  for  universal  hate  designed, 

The  face  of  virtue  wears.  [Exeunt. 


ACT    III. 

Scene  I. 
Creon,  HiEMON,  Chorus. 


Chorus.  Behold,  0  king !  thy  youngest  hope  appear 
The  noble  Hsemon.     Lost  in  grief  he  seems. 
Weeping  the  fate  of  poor  Antigone. 

Creon.  He  comes,  and  better  than  a  prophet,  soon 
Shall  we  divine  his  inmost  thoughts.     My  son, 
Com'st  thou,  well  knowing  our  decree,  to  mourn 
Thy  promised  bride,  and  angry  to  dispute 
A  father's  will ;  or,  whatsoe'er  we  do 
Still  to  hold  best,  and  pay  obedience  to  us  ] 

H^.  My  father,  I  am  thine.     Do  thou  command, 
And  I  in  all  things  shall  obey.     'Tis  fit 
My  promised  nuptial  rites  give  place  to  thee. 

Creon.  It  will  become  thee  with  obedience  thus 
To  bear  thee  ever,  and  in  every  act 
To  yield  submissive  to  a  father's  will : 
'Tis  therefore,  0  my  son  !  that  men  do  pray 


i6o  ANTIGONE, 

For  children  who  with  kind  officious  duty 

May  guard  their  helpless  age,  resist  their  foes, 

And  like  their  parents  love  their  parents'  friend ; 

But  he  who  gets  a  disobedient  child. 

What  doth  he  get  but  misery  and  woe  ? 

His  enemies  will  laugh  the  wretch  to  scorn. 

Take  heed,  my  son,  thou  yield  not  up  thy  reason, 

In  hopes  of  pleasure  from  a  worthless  woman ; 

For  cold  is  the  embrace  of  impious  love, 

And  deep  tlie  wounds  of  false  dissembled  friendship. 

Hate  then  thy  bitterest  foe,  despise  her  arts, 

And  leave  her  to  be  wedded  to  the  tomb. 

Of  all  the  city  her  alone  I  found 

Rebellious ;  but  I  have  her,  nor  shall  Thebes 

Say  I'm  a  liar :  I  pronounced  her  fate. 

And  she  must  perish.     Let  her  call  on  Jove, 

Who  guards  the  rights  of  kindred  and  the  ties 

Of  nature ;  for  if  those  b};  blood  united 

Transgress  the  laws,  I  hold  myself  more  near 

E'en  to  a  stranger.     Who  in  private  Ufe 

Is  just  and  good,  will  to  his  country  too 

Be  faithful  ever ;  but  the  man  who,  proud 

And  fierce  of  soul,  contemns  authority, 

Despiseth  justice,  and  o'er  those  who  rule 

Would  have  dominion,  such  shall  never  gain 

Th'  applauding  voice  of  Creon.     He  alone, 

Whom  the  consenting  citizens  approve 

Th'  acknowledged  sovereign,  should  in  all  command. 

Just  or  unjust  his  laws,  in  things  of  great 

Or  little  import,  whatsoe'er  he  bids : 

A  subject  is  not  to  dispute  his  will ; 

He  knows  alike  to  rule  and  to  obey ; 

And  in  the  day  of  battle  will  maintain 

The  foremost  rank,  his  country's  best  defence. 

Kebellion  is  the  worst  of  human  ills  ; 

This  ruins  kingdoms,  this  destroys  the  peace 

Of  noblest  families,  this  wages  war, 

And  puts  the  bmve  to  flight ;  whilst  fair  obedience 

Keeps  all  in  safety.     To  preserve  it  ever 

Should  be  a  king's  first  care.     We  will  not  yield 

To  a  weak  woman  ;  if  we  must  submit, 


ANTIGONE. 

At  least  we  will  be  conquered  by  a  man, 
Nor  by  a  female  arm  thus  fall  inglorious.^J^ 

H^.  Wisdom,  my  father,  is  the  noblest  giffcl 
The  gods  bestow  on  man,  and  better  far 
Than  all  his  treasures.     Why  thy  judgment  deems* 
Most  fit,  I  cannot,  would  not  repreheitd. 
Others  perhaps  might  call  it  Avrong.     For  me, 
My  duty  only  bids  me  to  inform  you 
If  aught  be  done  or  said  that  casts  reproach 
Or  blame  on  you.     Such  terror  would  thy  looks 
Strike  on  the  low  plebeian,  that  he  dare  not 
Say  aught  unpleasing  to  thee  ;  be  it  mine 
To  tell  thee  then  what  I  of  late  have  heard 
In  secret  whispered.     Your  afflicted  people 
United  mourn  th'  unhappy  virgin's  fate 
Unmerited,  most  wretched  of  her  sex, 
To  die  for  deeds  of  such  distinguished  virtue, 
For  that  she  would  not  let  a  brother  lie 
Unburied,  to  the  dogs  and  birds  a  prey ; 
Was  it  not  rather,  say  the  murmuring  crowd. 
Worthy  of  golden  honours  and  fair  praise  ? 
Such  are  their  dark  and  secret  discontents. 
Thy  welfare  and  thy  happiness  alone 
Are  all  my  wish  ;  what  can  a  child  desire 
More  than  a  father's  honour,  or  a  father 
More  than  his  child's  ?     Oh  !  do  not  then  retain 
Thy  will,  and  still  believe  no  sense  but  thine         _ 
Can  judge  aright !     The  man  who  proudly  thinks  7 
None  but  himself  or  eloquent,  or  wise,  ^ 

By  time  betrayed,  is  branded  for  an  idiot ;  \ 

True  wisdom  will  be  ever  glad  to  learn, 
And  not  too  fond  of  power.     Observe  the  trees 
That  bend  to  wintry  torrents,  how  their  boughs 
Unhurt  remain,  whilst  those  that  brave  the  storm, 
Uprooted  torn,  shall  wither  and  decay  ; 
The  pilot,  whose  unslackened  sail  defies 
Contending  winds,  with  shattered  bark  pursues 
His  dangerous  course.    Then  mitigate  thy  wrath 
My  father,  and  give  way  to  sweet  repentance. 
If  to  my  youth  be  aught  of  judgment  given, 
He,  who  by  knov/ledge  and  true  wisdom's  rules 

F 


ANTIGO.VE. 


Guides  every  action,  is  the  first  of  men  ; 
But  since  to  few  that  happiness  is  given, 
The  next  is  he,  who,  not  too  proud  to  learn, 
Follows  the  counsels  of  the  wise  and  good, 

Chor.  O  king  !  if  right  the  youth  advise,  'tis  fit 
Thtit  thou  shouldst  listen  to  him ;  so  to  thee 
Should  he  attend,  as  best  may  profit  both. 

Creon.  And  have  we  lived  so  long  then  to  be  taught 
At  last  our  duty  by  a  boy  like  thee  ? 

H.i<:.  Young  though  I  am,  I  still  may  judge  aright ; 
Wisdom^in  action  lies,  and  not  in  years, 

Creon,  Call  you  it  wisdom  then'^o  honour  those 
Who  disobey  the  laws  % 

HiE.  I  would  not  have  thee 

Protect  the  wicked. 

Creon.  Is  she  not  most  guilty 

H^.  Thebes  doth  not  think  her  so. 

Creon.  Shall  Thebes  prescrioe 

To  Creon's  will  ? 

H^.  How  weakly  dost  thou  talk  ! 

Creon.  Am  I  king  here,  or  shall  another  reign  ? 

H^.  'Tis  not  a  city  where  but  one  man  rules. 

Creon.  The  city  is  the  king's. 

HiE.  Go  by  thyself  then. 

And  rule  henceforth  o'er  a  deserted  land. 

Creon.  [to  the  Chorus].  He  pleads  the  woman's 
cause. 

H^.  If  thou  art  she, 

I  do ;  for,  oh  !  I  speak  but  for  thy  sake — 
My  care  is  all  for  thee. 

Creon.  Abandoned  wretch  ! 

Dispute  a  father's  will ! 

H^.  I  see  thee  err, 

And  therefore  do  it. 

Creon.  Is  it  then  a  crime 

To  guard  my  throne  and  rights  from  violation  ? 

H^    He  cannot  guard  them  who  contemns  the  gods 
And  violates  their  laws. 

Creon.  Oh  !  thou  are  worse, 

More  impious  e'en  than  her  thou  hast  defended. 

H^.  Naught  have  I  done  to  merit  this  reproof. 


ANTIGONE.  163 

Oreon.  Hast  thou  not  pleaded  for  hei-  ? 

H^.  No,  for  thee, 

And  for  myself — for  the  infernal  gods. 

Creon.  But  know,  she  shall  not  live  to  be  thy  wife. 

H^.  Then  she  must  die  ;  another  too  may  fall. 

Creon.  Ha  !  dost  thou  threaten  me,  audacious  traitor  % 

H.E.  What  are  my  threats  ?  Alas  !     thou  heedst  them 
not. 

Creon.  That  thou  shalt  see;  thy  insolent  instruction 
Shall  cost  thee  dear. 

H/E.  But  for  thou  art  my  father 

Now  would  I  say  thy  senses  were  impaired. 

Creon.  Think  not  to  make  me  thus  thy  scorn  and 
laughter, 
Thou  woman's  slave. 

Hjb.  Still  wouldst  thou  speak  thyself^ 

And  never  listen  to  the  voice  of  truth ; 
Such  is  thy  will. 

Creon.  Now,  by  Olympus  here  ! 

I  swear  thy  vile  reproaches  shall  not  pass 
Unpunished.     Call  her  forth  ! 

\To  one  of  the  Attendants. 
Before  her  bridegroom 
She  shall  be  brought,  and  peiish  in  his  sight. 

Hje.  These  eyes  shall  never  see  it.     Let  the  slaves 
Who  fear  thy  rage  submit  to  it;  but  know, 
'Tis  the  last  time  thou  shalt  behold  thy  son. 

\^Exit  H.E3I0N. 

Scene  II. 
Creon,  Chorus. 

Chor.  Sudden  in  anger  fled  the  youth.     O  king  ! 
A  mind  oppressed  like  his  is  desperate. 

Creon.  Why,  let  him  go  !  and  henceforth  better 
learn 
Than  to  oppose  me.     Be  it  as  it  may. 
Death  is  their  portion,  and  he  shall  not  save  them. 

Chor.  Must  they  both  die  then  % 

F  2 


ANTIGONE, 


No  ;  'tis  well  advised, 


but  for  Antigoue- 


164 

Creon. 

Ismene  lives 

Chor.  O  king  1  what  death  is  she  decreed  to  suffer 
CiiEON.   Far  from  the  haunts  of  men  I'll  have  her  led, 

And  in  a  rocky  cave,  beneath  the  earth, 

Buried  alive  ;  with  her  a  little  food. 

Enough  to  save  the  city  from  pollution. 

There  let  her  pray  the  only  god  she  worships 

To  save  her  from  this  death  :  perhaps  he  will. 

Or,  if  he  doth  not,  let  her  learn  how  vain 

It  is  to  reverence  the  powers  below.  [^Exit  Creon. 


Scene   III. 


Chorus. 
Strophe  I. 

Mighty  power,  all  powers  above, 
Great  unconquerable  love  ! 
Thou,  who  liest  in  dimple  sleek 
On  the  tender  virgin's  cheek, 
Thee  the  rich  and  great  obey, 
Every  creature  owns  thy  sway. 
O'er  the  wide  earth  and  o'er  the  main 
Extends  thy  universal  reign  ; 
All  thy  maddening  influence  know, 
Gods  above  and  men  below  ; 
All  thy  powers  resistless  prove, 
Great  unconquerable  love ! 

Aniistrophe  i. 

Thou  canst  lead  the  just  astray 
From  wisdom  and  from  virtue's  way ; 
The  ties  of  nature  cea^e  to  bind. 
When  thou  disturbst  the  captive  mind 
Behold,  enslaved  by  fond  desire, 
The  youth  condemns  his  aged  sire 
Enamoured  of  his  beauteous  maid, 
Nor  laws  nor  parents  are  obeyed  ; 


ANTIGONE,  165 

Thus  Venus  wills  it  from   above, 
And  great  unconquerable  love. 

Chor.  E'en  I  beyond  the  common  bounds  of  grief 
Indulge  my  sorrows,  and  from  these  sad  eyes 
Fountains  of  tears  will  flow,  when  I  behold 
Antigone,  unhappy  maid,  approach 
The  bed  of  death,  and  hasten  to  the  tomb* 


Scene  IV. 
Antigone,  Chords. 

Ant.  Farewell,  my  friends,  my  countrymen,  farewell ! 
Here  on  her  last  sad  journey  you  behold 
The  poor  Antigone  ;  for  never  more 
Shall  I  return,  or  view  the  light  of  day : 
The  hand  of  death  conducts  me  to  the  shore 
Of  dreary  Acheron  ;  no  nuptial  song 
Reserved  for  me — the  wretched  bride  alone 
Of  Pluto  now,  and  wedded  to  the  tomb. 

Chor.  Be  it  thy  glory  still,  that  by  the  sword 
Thou  fallst  not,  nor  the  slow-consuming  hand 
Of  foul  distemperature,  but  far  distinguished 
Above  thy  sex,  and  to  thyself  a  law, 
Doomst  thy  own  death  :  so  shall  thy  honour  Hve, 
And  future  ages  venerate  thy  name. 

Ant.  Thus  Tantalus'  unhappy  daughter  fell. 
The  Phrygian  Niobe.     High  on  the  top 
Of  towering  Sipylus  the  rock  enfolds  her, 
E'en  as  the  ivy  twines  her  tendrils  round 
The  lofty  oak ;  there  still  (as  fame  reports) 
To  melting  showers  and  everlasting  snow 
Obvious  she  stands,  her  beauteous  bosom  wet 
With  tears,  that  from  her  ever-streaming  eyes 
Incessant  flow.    Her  fate  resembles  mine. 

Chor.  A  goddess  she,  and  from  a  goddess  sprung  ; 
We  are  but  mortal,  and  of  mortals  born  : 
To  meet  the  fate  of  gods  thus  in  thy  life, 
A.nd  in  thy  death,  oh  !  'tis  a  glorious  doom  ! 


1 66 


ANTIGONE. 


AnT.  Ahis  I  thou  mockst  me  !    Why,  whilst  yet  1  Hve, 
Wouldht  thou  afflict  me  with  reproach  Uke  this  / 

0  my  dear  country  !  and  my  dearer  friends 
Its  blest  inhabitants,  renowned  Thebes! 
And  ye  Dirca^an  fountains !  you  I  call 

To  \ntness  that  I  die  by  laws  unjust, 
To  my  deep  prison  unlamented  go, 
To  my  sad  tomb — no  fellow-sufferer  there 
To  soothe  my  woes,  the  living,  or  the  dead. 

Chor.  Rashness  like  thine  must  meet  with  such 
reward ; 
A  father's  crimes,  I  fear,  lie  heavy  on  thee. 

Ant.  Oh  !  thou  hast  touched  my  worst  of  miseries. 
My  father's  fate,  the  woes  of  all  our  house, 
The  wretched  race  of  Labdacus,  renowned 
For  its  misfortunes !     Oh  !  the  guilty  bed 
Of  those  from  whom  I  sprang — unhappy  offspring 
Of  parents  most  unhappy  !     Lo !   to  them 

1  go  accursed — a  virgin  and  a  slave. 

O  my  poor  brother  !  most  unfortunate 

Were  thy  sad  nuptials — they  have  slain  thy  sister. 

Chor.  Thy  piety  demands  our  praise ;  but  know, 
Authority  is  not  to  be  despised ; 
'Twas  thy  own  rashness  brought  destruction  on  thee. 

Ant.  Thus  friendless,  unlamented,  must  I  tread 
The  destined  path,  no  longer  to  behold 
Yon  sacred  light,  and  none  shall  mourn  my  fate. 


Scene  V. 


Creon,  Antigone,  Chorus, 


Creon.  Know  ye  not,  slaves  like  her,  to  death 
devoted, 
Would  never  cease  their  wailings  ?     Wherefore  is  it 
You  thus  delay  to  execute  my  orders  ? 
Let  her  be  carried  instant  to  the  cave. 
And  leave  her  there  alone,  to  live,  or  die ; 
Her  blood  rests  not  on  us ;  but  she  no  longer 
Shall  breathe  on  earth.  \^Exit  Cii£0N. 


ANTIGONE.  167 

Scene  VI. 
Antigone,  Chorus. 

Ant.  O  dreadful  marriage  bed  ! 

0  my  deep  dungeon  !     My  eternal  liome, 
Whither  I  go  to  join  my  kindred  dead ! 
For  not  a  few  hath  fell  Persephone 
Already  ta'en  ;  to  her  I  go,  the  last 
And  most  unhappy,  ere  my  time  was  come ; 
But  still  I  have  sweet  hope  I  shall  not  go 
Unwelcome  to  my  father,  nor  to  thee,  • 
My  mother.     Dear  to  thee,  Eteocles^ 
Still  shall  I  ever  be.     These  pious  hands 
Washed  your  pale  bodies,  and  adorned  you  botli 
With  rites  sepulchral,  and  libations  due  ! 
And  thus,  my  Polynices,  for  my  care 

Of  thee  am  I  rewarded,  and  the  good  \uaa,^c.,.^  ^ 

Alone  shall  praise  me.     For  a  husband  dead,      j         -^-"-^ 
Nor,  had  1  been  a  mother,  for  my  children  ' 

Would  I  have  dared  to  violate  the  laws : 
Another  husband  and  another  child 
Might  soothe  affliction.     But,  my  parents  dead, 
A  brother's  loss  could  never  be  repaired. 
And  therefore  did  I  dare  the  venturous  deed, 
And  therefore  die  by  Creon's  dread  command. 
Ne'er  shall  i  taste  of  Hymen's  joys,  or  know 
A  mother's  pleasures  in  her  infant  race ; 
But,  friendless  and  forlorn,  alive  descend 
Into  the  dreary  mansion;^  of  the  dead. 
And  how  have  I  offended  the  just  gods ! 
But  wherefore  call  on  them  %     Will  they  protect  me, 
When  thus  I  meet  with  the  reward  of  ill 
For  doing  good  %     If  this  be  just,  ye  gods, 
If  I  am  guilty,  let  me  suffer  foi'  it. 
But  if  the  crime  be  theirs,  oh  !  let  them  feel 
That  weight  of  misery  they  have  laid  on  me  ! 

Chor.  The  storm  continues,  and  her  angry  soul 
Still  pours  its  sorrows  forth. 


1 68 


ANTIGONE. 


HCENE     VI 1 

Creon,  Antigone,  Chorus. 

Creon.  The  slaves  shall  suffer 

For  this  delay. 

Ant.  Alas  !  death  cannot  be 

Far  from  that  voice. 

Creon.  I  would  not  have  thee  hope 

A  moment's  respite. 

Ant.  O  my  country's  gods ! 

And  thou,  my  native  Thebes !  I  leave  you  now. 
Look  on  me,  princes — see  the  last  of  all 
My  ro3'al  race — see  what  I  suffer,  see 
From  whom  I  bear  it,  from  the  worst  of  men, 
Only  because  I  did  delight  in  \artue.  \^Exit  Creon. 


Scene    Vlll. 
Antigone,  Chorus. 

Chorus. 

Stro2)hG  I. 

Remember  what  fair  Danae  endured, 

Condemned  to  change  he^iven's  cheerful  light 
For  scenes  of  horror  and  of  night, 
Within  a  brazen  tower  long  time  immured ; 
Yet  was  the  maid  of  noblest  race, 
And  honoured  e'en  with  Jove's  embrace  ; 
But,  oh !  when  fate  decrees  a  mortal's  woe 
Naught  can  reverse  the  doom  or  stop  the  blow — 
Nor  heaven  above,  nor  earth  and  seas  below. 


Antistrophe  i. 

The  Thracian  monarch,  Dryas'  hapless  son, 
Chained  to  a  rock  in  to  rment  lay. 
And  breathed  his  angry  soul  away, 

By  wrath  misguided,  and  by  pride  undone ; 


ANTIGONE,  169 

Taught  by  the  offended  god  to  know 

From  foul  reproach  what  evils  flow ; 
For  he  the  rites  profaned  with  slanderous  tongue, 
The  holy  flame  he  quenched,  disturbed  the  song, 
A.nd  waked  to  wrath  the  Muses'  tuneful  throng. 

Strophe  2. 

His  turbid  waves  where  Salmydessus  rolled, 
And  proud  Oyaneji-'s  rocks  divide  the  flood, 
There  from  thy  temple.  Mars,  didst  thou  behold 
The  sons  of  Phineus  weltering  in  their  blood  ; 
A  mother  did  the  cruel  deed, 
A  mother  bade  her  children  bleed  ; 
Both  by  her  impious  hand,  deprived  of  light, 
In  vain  lamented  long  their  ravished  sight, 
And  closed  their  eyes  in  never-ending  night, 

Aritistrophe  2. 

Long  time  they  wept  a  better  mother's  fate, 

Unhappy  offspring  of  a  luckless  bed  ? 
Yet  nobly  born,  and  eminently  great 

Was  she,  and  midst  sequestered  caverns  bred — 
Her  father's  angry  storms  among, 
Daughter  of  gods,  from  Boreas  sprung — 
Equal  in  swiftness  to  the  bounding  steed. 
She  skimmed  the  mountains  with  a  courser's  speed, 
Yet  was  the  nymph  to  death  and  misery  decreed. 

{Exeunt. 


fjo 


ANTlGOiSlE. 


ACT    IV. 


Scene  1. 


TiRESiAS,  Guide,  Creon,  Chorus. 

TiR.  Princes  of  Thebes,  behold,  conducted  hither 
By  my  kind  guide — such  is  the  blind  man's  fate— 
Tiresias  comes ! 

Creon.  0  venerable  prophet ! 

What  hast  thou  to  impart  % 

TiR.  1  will  inform  thee ; 

Observe,  and  be  obedient. 

Creon.  Have  I  not 

been  ever  so  % 

TiR.                 Thou  hast ;  and  therefore  Thebes 
Hath  flourished  still 

Creon.  By  thy  protecting  hand. 

TiR.  Therefore  be  wise.     For  know,  this  very  hour 
Is  the  important  crisis  of  thy  fate. 

Creon.  Spe^ik  then  !     What  is  it  ]     How  I  dread  tlr 
words  ! 

TiR.  When  thou  hast  heard  the  portents  which  my 
art 
But  now  discovered,  thou  wilt  see  it  all. 
Know  then  that,  sitting  on  my  ancient  throne 
Augurial,  whence  each  divination  comes, 
Sudden  a  strange  unusual  noise  was  heard 
Of  birds,  whose  loud  and  barbarous  dissonance 
I  knew  not  how  to  interpret.     By  the  sound 
Of  clashing  wings  I  could  discover  well 
That  with  their  bloody  claws  they  tore  each  other  ; 
Amazed  and  fearful,  instantly  I  tried 
On  burning  altars  holy  sacrifice — 
When,  from  the  victim,  lo !  the  sullen  flame 
Aspired  not.     Smothered  in  the  ashes  still 
Laid  the  moist  flesh,  and,  rolled  in  smoke,  repelled 


The  rising  fire,  whil^ 

Were  separate.     All  these  .signs  of  deadly  omen, 


from  their  fat  the  thighs 


ANTIGONE.  171 

Boding  dark  vengeance,  did  I  learn  from  hiru  ; 

[Pointing  to  the  Guide. 
He  is  my  leader,  king,  and  1  am  thine. 
Then  mark  me  well.     From  thee  these  evils  flow, 
From  thy  unjust  decree.     Our  altars  all 
Have  been  polluted  by  th'  unhallowed  food 
Of  birds  and  dogs,  that  preyed  upon  the  corse 
Of  wretched  CEdipus'  unhappy  son  ; 
Nor  will  the  gods  accept  our  offered  prayers, 
Or  from  our  hands  receive  the  sacrifice  ; 
No  longer  will  the  birds  send  forth  their  sounds 
Auspicious,  fattened  thus  with  human  blood. 
Consider  this,  my  son.     And,  oh  !  remember, 
To  err  is  human — 'tis  the  common  lot 
Of  frail  mortality ;  and  he  alone 
Is  wise  and  happy,  who,  when  ills  are  done, 
Persists  not,  but  would  heal  the  wound  he  made  ; 
But  self-sufficient  obstinacy  ever 
Is  folly's  utmost  height.     Where  is  the  glory 
To  slay  the  slain  or  persecute  the  dead  ? 
I  wish  thee  well,  and  therefore  have  spoke  thus ; 
When  those  who  love  advise  'tis  sweet  to  learn. 

Creon.  I  know,  old  man,  I  am  the  general  marlc, 
The  butt  of  all,  and  you  all  aim  at  me. 
For  me  I  know  your  prophecies  were  made. 
And  I  am  sold  to  this  detested  race — 
Betrayed  to  them.     But  make  your  gains  !     Go,  purchase 
Your  Sardian  amber,  and  your  Indian  gold  ; 
They  shall  not  buy  a  tomb  for  Polynices. 
No,  should  the  eagle  seoJc  him  for  his  food. 
And  towering  bear  him  to  the  throne  of  Jove, 
I  would  not  bury  him.     For  well  I  know 
The  gods  by  mortals  cannot  be  polluted  ; 
But  the  best  men,  by  sordid  gain  corrupt. 
Say  all  that's  ill,  and  fall  beneath  the  lowest. 

TiR.  Who  knows  this,  or  who  dare  accuse  us  of  it  ? 

Creon.  What  meanst  thou  by  that  question  ?     Askst 
thou  who  1 

Tir.  How  far  is  wisdom  beyond  every  good  ! 

Creon.  As  far  as  folly  beyond  every  ill. 

Tir.  That's  a  distemper  thou  'rt  afflicted  with. 


172 


ANTIGONE. 


Creon.  I'll  not  revile  a  prophet. 

TiR.  But  thou  (.lost ; 

Thou  'It  not  believe  me. 

Creon.  Your  prophetic  race 

Are  lovers  all  of  gold. 

TiR.  Tyrants  are  so, 

Howe'er  ilKgotten. 

Creon.  Knowst  thou  'tis  a  kinjj 

Thou  'rt  talking  thus  to  ? 

TiR.  Yes,  T  know  it  well  ; 

A  king  who  owes  to  nie  his  country's  safety. 

Creon.  Thou'rt  a  wise  prophet,  but  thou  art  unjust. 

TiR.  Thou  wilt  oblige  me  then  to  utter  that 
Which  1  had  purposed  to  conceal. 

Creon.  Speak  out. 

Say  what  thou  wilt,  but  say  it  not  for  hire. 

TiR.  Thus  may  it  seem  to  thee. 

Creon.  But  know,  old  man, 

I  am  not  to  be  sold. 

TiR.  E«member  this : 

Not  many  days  shall  the  bright  sun  perform 
His  stated  course,  ere,  sprung  from  thy  own  loins, 
Thyself  shall  yield  a  victim.     In  thy  turn 
Thou  too  shalt  weep,  for  that  thy  cruel  sentence 
Decreed  a  guiltless  virgin  to  the  tomb, 
And  kept  on  earth,  unmindful  of  the  gods, 
Ungraced,  unburied,  an  unhallowed  corse. 
Which  not  to  thee,  nor  to  the  gods  above 
Of  right  belonged.     'Twas  arbitrary  power  : 
But  the  avenging  furies  lie  concealed. 
The  minister  of  death  have  spread  the  snare, 
And  with  like  woes  await  to  punish  thee. 
Do  I  say  this  from  hopes  of  promised  gold  ? 
Pass  but  a  little  time,  and  thou  shalt  hear 
The  shrieks  of  men,  the  women's  loud  laments 
O'er  all  thy  palace ;  see  th'  offended  people 
Together  rage ;  thy  cities  all  by  dogs 
And  beasts  and  birds  polluted,  and  the  stench 
Of  filth  obscene  on  every  altar  laid. 
Thus  from  my  angry  soul  have  I  sent  forth 
Its  keenest  arrows — for  thou  hast  provoked  me— 


ANTIGONE.  173 

Nor  shall  they  fly  in  vain,  or  thou  escape 

The  destined  blow.     Now,  boy,  conduct  me  home, 

On  younger  heads  the  tempest  of  his  rage 

Shall  fall ;  but,  henceforth  let  him  learn  to  speak 

In  humbler  terms,  and  bear  a  better  mind. 

[Exit  TiRESIAS. 

Scene  II. 
Oreon,  Chorus. 

Chor.   He's  gone,  and  dreadful  were  his  prophecies ; 
Since  these  grey  hairs  were  o'er  my  temples  spread 
Nought  from  those  lips  hath  flowed  but  sacred  truth. 

Creon.  I  know  there  hath  not,  and  am  troubled 
much 
For  the  event ;  'tis  grating  to  submit. 
And  yet  the  mind  spite  of  itself  must  yield 
In  such  distress. 

Chor.  Son  of  Menaeceus,  now 

Thou  needst  most  counsel. 

Creon.  What  wouldst  thou  advise  ? 

I  will  obey  thee. 

Chor.  Set  the  virgin  free, 

And  let  a  tomb  be  raised  for  Polynices. 

Creon.  And  dost  thou  counsel  thus  ? — and  must  I 
yield? 

Chor.  Immediately,  O  king  !  for  vengeance  falls 
With  hasty  footsteps  on  the  guilty  head. 

Creon.  I  cannot — yet  I  must  reverse  the  sentence ; 
There  is  no  struggling  with  necessity. 

Chor.  Do  it  thyself,  nor  trust  another  hand. 

Creon.  I  will ;  and  you  my  servants,  be  prepared ; 
Each  with  his  axe  quick  hasten  to  the  place ; 
Myself — for  thus  I  have  resolved — will  go, 
And  the  same  hand  that  bound  shall  set  her  free ; 
For,  oh  !  I  fear  'tis  wisest  still  through  life 
To  keep  our  ancient  laws,  and  follow  virtue. 


174 


ANTIGONE. 


Scene   III. 


Chorus. 
Strophe  i. 

Bacchus,  by  vaiious  names  to  mortals  known, 
Fair  Semele's  illustrious  son, 
Offspring  of  thunder-bearing  Jove, 
Who  honourst  famed  Italia  with  thy  love  I 
Who  dwellst  where  erst  the  dragon's  teeth  were 

strewed, 
Or  where  Ismenus  pours  his  gentle  flood  ; 
Who  dost  o'er  Ceres'  hallowed  rites  preside, 
And  at  thy  native  Thebes  propitious  still  reside. 

Antistrophe  i. 

Where  famed  Parnassus'  forked  hills  uprise. 

To  thee  ascends  the  sacritice  ; 

Corycia's  nymphs  attend  below, 
Whilst  from  Castalia's  fount  fresh  waters  flow  : 
O'er  Nysa's  mountains  wreaths  of  ivy  twine, 
And  mix  their  tendrils  with  the  clustering  vine : 
Around  their  master  crowd  the  virgin  throng, 
And  praise  the  god  of  Thebes  in  never-dying  song. 

Strophe  2. 

Happiest  of  cities,  Thebes  !  above  the  rest 

By  Semele  and  Bacchus  blest ! 
Oh  !  ^dsit  now  thy  once  beloved  abode, 
Oh  !  heal  our  woes,  thou  kind  protecting  god  ! 
From  steep  Parnassus,  or  th'  Euboean  sea. 
With  smiles  auspicious  come,  and  bring  with  thee 
Health,  joy,  and  peace,  and  fair  prosperity. 

Antistrophe  2. 

Immortal  leader  of  the  maddening  choir, 
Whose  torches  blaze  with  unextinguished  fire. 
Great  son  of  Jove,  who  guidst  the  tuneful  throng, 
Thou,  who  presidest  o'er  the  nightly  song. 


ANTIGONE.  175 

Come  with  thy  Naxian  maids,  a  festive  train, 

Who,  wild  with  joy,  and  raging  o'er  the  plain, 

For  thee  the  dance  prepare,  to  thee  devote  the  strain. 

\ExQiint. 


ACT  V. 

Scene   I. 
Messenger,  Chorus. 


Messenger.  Ye  race  of  Cadmus,  sons  of  ancient 
Thebes, 
Henceforth  no  state  of  human  life  by  me 
Shall  be  or  valued  or  despised  :  for  all 
Depends  on  fortune  ;  she  exalts  the  low. 
And  casts  the  mighty  down.     The  fate  of  men 
Can  never  be  foretold.     There  was  a  time 
When  Creon  lived  in  envied  happiness, 
Ruled  o'er  renowned  Thebes,  which  from  her  foes 
He  had  delivered,  with  successful  power; 
Blest  in  his  kingdom,  in  his  children  blest, 
He  stretched  o'er  all  his  universal  sway. 
Now  all  is  gone  :  when  pleasure  is  no  more, 
Man  is  but  an  animated  corse, 
Nor  can  be  said  to  live  ;  he  may  be  rich. 
Or  decked  with  regal  honours,  but  if  joy 
Be  absent  from  him,  if  he  tastes  them  not,  I 
'Tis  useless  grandeur  all,  and  empty  shade.    \ 

Chor.  Touching  our  royal  master,  bringst  thou  news 
Of  sorrow  to  us  % 

Mes.  They  are  dead ;  and  those 

Who  live  the  dreadful  cause. 

Choe.  Quick,  tell  us  who — 

The  slayer  and  the  slain  ! 

Mes.  Hsemon  is  dead. 

Cttor.  Dead  !  by  what  hand,  his  father's  or  his  own  ? 


17^ 


ANTIGONE. 


Mets.  Enraged  and  grieving  for  liis  murdered  love, 
He  slew  himself. 

Chor.  0  proijhet  !  thy  predictions 

Were  bnt  too  true  ! 

Mes.  Since  thus  it  be,  'tis  fit 

We  should  consult ;  our  present  state  demands  it, 

Chor.  But  see  !  Eurydice,  the  wretched  wife 
Of  Creon,  comes  this  way  ;  or  chance  hath  brought  her. 
Or  Haemon's  hapless  fate  hath  reached  her  ear. 


Scene  II. 


Eurydice,  Messenger,  Chorus. 

EuB.  0  citizens  !  as  to  Minerva's  fane 
E'en  now  I  went  to  pay  my  vows,  the  doors 
I  burst,  and  heard  imperfectly  the  sound 
Of  most  disastrous  news  which  touched  me  near. 
Breathless  I  fell  amidst  the  virgin  throng ; 
And  now  I  come  to  know  the  dreadful  truth : 
Whate'er  it  be,  I'll  hear  it  now ;  for,  oh ! 
I  am  no  stranger  to  calamity. 

Mes.  Then  mark,  my  mistress,  I  will  tell  thee  all, 
Nor  will  I  j)ass  a  circumstance  unmentioned. 
Should  I  deceive  thee  with  an  idle  tale 
'Twere  soon  discovered.     Truth  is^lways  best. 
Know  then,  I  followed  Creon  to  tiie  'iieldT*'"' 
Where,  torn  by  dogs,  the  wretched  carcase  lay 
Of  Polynices.     First  to  Proserpine 
And  angry  Pluto,  to  appease  their  wrath. 
Our  humble  prayers  addressing,  there  we  laved 
In  the  pure  stream  the  body ;  then,  with  leaves 
Fresh  gathered  covering,  burnt  his  poor  remains, 
And  on  the  neighbouring  turf  a  tomb  upraised. 
Then,  towards  the  virgin's  rocky  cave  advanced. 
When  from  the  dreadful  chamber  a  sad  cry 
As  from  afar  was  heard,  a  servant  ran 
To  tell  the  king,  and  still  as  we  approached 
The  sound  of  sorrow  from  a  voice  unknown 
And  undistinguished  issued  forth.     Alas! 


ANTIGONE.  177 

Said  Creon  :  "  Am  I  then  a  faithful  prophet  % 

And  do  I  tread  a  more  unhappy  path 

Than  e'er  I  went  before  %     It  is  my  son — 

I  know  his  voice  !     But  get  ye  to  the  door, 

My  servants,  close,  look  through  the  stony  heap ; 

Mark  if  it  be  so.     Is  it  Haemon's  voice  ? " 

Again  he  cried  :  "Or  have  the  gods  deceived  me ?*" 

Thus  spoke  the  king.     We,  to  our  mournful  lord 

Obedient,  looked,  and  saw  Antigone 

Down  in  the  deepest  hollow  of  the  cave, 

By  her  own  vestments  hung.     Close  by  her  side 

The  wretched  youth,  embracing  in  his  arms 

Her  lifeless  corse,  weeping  his  father's  crime. 

His  ravished  bride,  and  horrid  nuptial  bed, 

Creon  beheld,  and  loud  reproaching  cried  : 

"  What  art  thou  doing]     What's  thy  dreadful  purpose? 

What  means  my  son  ?     Come  forth,  my  Ilsemon,  come ! 

Thy  father  begs  thee."     With  indignant  eye 

The  youth  looked  up,  nor  scornful  deigned  an  answer, 

But  silent  drew  his  sword,  and  with  fell  rnge 

Struck  at  his  father,  who  by  flight  escaped 

The  blow ;  then  on  himself  bent  all  his  wrath, 

Full  in  his  side  the  weapon  fixed ;  but  still, 

Whilst  life  remained,  on  the  soft  bosom  hung 

Of  the  dear  maid,  and  his  lost  spirit  breathed 

O'er  her  pale  cheek  discoloured  with  his  blood. 

Thus  lay  the  wretched  pair  in  death  united, 

And  celebrate  their  nuptials  in  the  tomb — 

To  future  times  a  terrible  example 

Of  the  sad  woes  which  rashness  ever  brings. 

\fixit  EURYDICE. 

Scene   HI. 
Messenger,  Chorus. 

Chor.  What  can  this  mean  %     She's  gone,  without  a 
word. 

Mes.  'Tis  strange,  and  yet  I  trust  she  will  not  loud 
Proclaim  her  griefs  to  all,  but — for  I  know 
She's  ever  prudent — with  her  virgin  train 
In  secret  weep  her  murdered  Hsemon's  fate. 


ryS 


ANTIGONE. 


Chor.  Clamour  indeed  were  vain  ;  but  such  deyp 
silence 
Doth  ever  threaten  horrid  consequence. 

Mes.  Within  we  soon  shall  know  if  aught  she  hide 
Of  deadly  purport  in  her  angry  soul ; 
For  well  thou  sayst  her  silence  is  most  dreadful. 

\Exit  Messengek. 

Chor.  But  lo  !  the  king  himself  :  and  in  his  arms 
See  his  dead  son,  the  monument  accursed 
Of  his  sad  fate,  which,  may  we  say  unblamed, 
Sprang  not  from  others'  guilt,  but  from  his  own. 


Scene  IV. 
Creon,  Messenger,  Chorus. 

Creun  enters,  hearing  the  body  of  HiEMON. 

Creon.  Ah  me !    What  deadly  woes  from  the  bad  mind 
Perpetual  flow.     Thus  in  one  wretched  house 
Have  you  beheld  the  slayer  and  the  slain ! 

0  fatal  counsels  !  0  unhappy  son  ! 

Thus  with  thy  youthful  bride  to  sink  in  death ; 
Thou  diest,  my  child,  and  I  alone  have  killed  thee  ! 

Chor.  O  king  !  thy  justice  comes  too  late. 

Creon.  It  doth, 

1  know  it  well,  unhappy  as  I  am  ; 

For  oh  !  the  god  this  heavy  weight  of  woe 
Hath  cast  upon  me,  and  his  fiercest  wrath 
Torments  me  now,  changing  my  joyful  state 
To  keenest  anguish.     Oh  !  the  fruitless  toils 
Of  wretched  mortals  ! 


Scene  V. 

Messenger,  Creon,  Chorus. 

Mes.  Thus  oppressed,  my  lord, 

With  bitterest  misfortune,  more  aliliction 
Awaits  thee  still,  which  thou  Avilt  find  within. 


ANTIGONE,  179 

Creon.  And  can  there  be  more  woes  %     Is  aught  to 
come 
More  horrible  than  this  ? 

Mes.  The  queen  is  dead  ; 

Her  wounds  yet  fresh.     Eager,  alas  !  to  show 
A  mother's  love,  she  followed  hfer  lost  child. 

Creon.  0  death  insatiate  !  how  dost  thou  afflict  me  ! 
What  cruel  news,  thou  messenger  of  ill, 
Hast  thou  brought  now  ? 

CnoR.  A  wretch,  already  dead 

With  grief,  thy  horrid  tale  once  more  hath  slain. 

Creon.  Didst  thou  not  say  a  fresh  calamity 
Had  fallen  upon  mel     Didst  thou  not  say  my  wife 
Was  dead,  alas  !  for  grief  of  Hsemon's  fate  % 

\Scene  opens  and  discovers  the  body  of  Eurydice, 

Mes.  Behold  her  there  ! 

Creon.  0  me  !  another  blow  ! 

What  now  remains  ?  What  can  I  suffer  more. 
Thus  bearing  in  these  arms  my  breathless  son  ? 
My  wife  too  dead  !  0  most  unhappy  mother  ! 
And  oh  !  thou  wretched  child  ! 

Mes.  Close  by  the  altar 

She  drew  the  sword,  and  closed  her  eyes  in  death, 
Lamenting  first  her  lost  Megareus'  fate 
And  Hsemon's  death,  with  imprecations  dire 
Still  poured  on  thee,  the  murderer  of  thy  son. 

Creon.  I  shudder  at  it  %     Will  no  friendly  hand 
Destroy  me  quickly?     For  oh  !  I  am  most  wretched — 
I>eset  with  miseries  ! 

Mes.  She  accused  thee  oft. 

And  said  the  guilt  of  both  their  deaths  was  thine, 

Creon.  Alas  !  I  only  am  to  blame.  'Twas  I 
Who  killed  thee,  Hsemon ;  I  confess  my  crime. 
Bear  me,  my  servants,  bear  me  far  from  hence, 
For  I  am — nothing. 

Chor.  If  in  ills  like  these 

Aught  can  be  well,  thou  hast  determined  right  : 
When  least  we  see  our  woes,  we  feel  them  least. 

Creon.  Quick  let  my  last,  my  happiest  hour  appear  ! 
Would  it  were  come,  the  period  of  my  woes ! 
Oh  !  that  I  might  not  see  another  day  ! 


t8o 


ANTIGONE, 


CiioR.  Time  must  determine  that :  the  present  hour 
Demands  our  rare  ;  the  rest  1:>e  left  to  heaven. 

Oreon.   But  I  have  wished  and  prayed  for 't. 

Chor.  Pray  for  nothing  ; 

Tliere's  no  reversing  the  decrees  of  fate. 

Creon.  Take  hence  this  useless  load,  this  guilty 
wretch 
Who  slew  his  child,  who  slew  e'en  thee,  my  wife ; 
I  know  not  whither  to  betake  me,  where 
To  turn  my  eyes,  for  all  is  dreadful  round  me, 
And  fate  hath  weighed  me  down  on  every  side. 

Chor.  Wisdom  alone  is  man's  true  happiness : 
We  are  not  to  dispute  the  will  of  heaven  ; 
For  ever  are  the  boastings  of  the  proud 
By  the  just  gods  repaid,  and  man  at  last 
Is  taught  to  fear  their  anger,  and  be  wise. 


T 


R  A  C  H  I  N  I  ^. 


DRAiSrATIS   PERSON^:. 


Hercules. 

Hyllus,  Son  of  Ilercvles. 
Oeianira,  Wife  of  Hercules. 
LiCHAS,  a  Herald. 
Attenda>t  on  Deianira. 


Nurse. 
Old  Man. 
Messenger. 

Chorus,  composed  of  Virgins 
of  Trachis. 


SCENE.— ^e/ore  the  Palace  of  Ceyx  in  Trachis. 


ACT   I. 


Scene    I. 


Deianira,  Attendant. 

Deianira.  Of  ancient  fame,  and  long  for  truth  received, 
Hath  been  the  maxim,  tliat  nor  good  nor  ill 
Can  mortal  life  be  called  before  we  die. 
Alas  !  it  is  not  so  ;  for,  oh  !  my  friends, 
Ere  to  the  shades  of  Orcus  I  descend, 
Too  well  I  know  that  Deianira's  life 
Hath  ever  been,  and  ever  must  be,  wretched. 
Whilst  in  my  native  Pleuron  ^neus  watched 
My  tender  years  with  kind  paternal  care, 
If  ever  woman  suffered  from  the  dread 
Of  hated  nuptials,  I  endured  the  worst 


t82 


TRACHJNI^. 


And  bitterest  woes,  when  Achelous  came, 

The  river-god,  to  ask  a  father's  voice, 

And  snatched  me  to  his  arms.     With  triple  form 

He  came  affrighting — now  to  sight  appeared 

A  bull,  and  i»w  with  motley  scales  adorned 

A  wreathed  serpent,  now  with  human  shape 

And  bestial  head  united  ;  from  his  beard. 

Shadowed  with  hair,  as  from  a  fountain,  dripped 

The  ever-llo\nng  water.     Horrid  form  ! 

This  to  escape  my  prayers  incessant  rose 

That  I  might  ratlier  die  than  e'er  approach 

His  hated  bed.     When  lo  !  the  welcome  hovir, 

Though  late,  arrived,  that  brought  the  son  of  Jove 

And  fair  Alcmena  to  my  aid.     He  came, 

He  fought,  he  freed  me.     How  the  battle  passed 

Who  unconcerned  beheld  it  best  can  tell. 

Alas  !  I  saw  it  not,  oppressed  with  fear 

Lest  from  my  fatal  beauty  should  arise 

Some  sad  event.     At  length,  deciding  Jove 

Gave  to  the  doubtful  fight  a  happy  end, 

If  I  may  call  it  so ;  for,  since  the  hour 

That  gave  me  to  Alcides'  wished-for  bed 

Fears  rise  on  fears  ;  still  is  my  anxious  heart 

Solicitous  for  him  ;  oftiraes  the  night. 

Which  brings  him  to  me,  bears  him  from  my  arms 

To  other  labours  and  a  second  toil. 

Our  children  too,  alas  !  he  sees  them  not, 

But  as  the  husbandman  who  ne'er  beholds 

His  distant  lands,  save  at  the  needful  time 

Of  seed  or  harvest.     Wandering  thus,  and  thus 

Returning  ever,  is  he  sent  to  serve 

I  know  not  whom.     When  crowned  with  victory, 

Then  most  my  feai-s  prevail ;  for  since  he  slew 

The  valiant  Iphitus,  at  Trachis  here 

We  live  in  exile  with  our  generous  friend, 

The  hospitable  Ceyx  ;  he  meantime 

Is  gone,  and  none  can  tell  me  where.     He  went 

And  left  me  most  unhappy.     Oh  !  some  ill 

Hath  sure  befallen  him  !  for  no  little  time 

Hath  he  been  absent ;  'tis  full  fifteen  moons 

Since  I  beheld  him,  and  no  messenger 


TRACHINTAl.  183 

Is  come  to  Deianira.     Some  misfortune 
Doubtless  hath  happened,  for  he  left  behind 
A  dreadful  scroll.     Oh  !  I  have  prayed  the  gods 
A  thousand  times  it  may  contain  no  ill. 

Atten.  My  royal  mistress,  long  have  I  beheld 
Thy  tears  and  sorrows  for  thy  lost  Alcides ; 
But  if  the  counsels  of  a  slave  might  claim 
Attention,  I  would  speak — would  ask  thee  wherefore 
Amongst  thy  sons,  a  numerous  progeny, 
None  hath  been  sent  in  search  of  him,  and  chief 
Thy  Hyllus,  if  he  holds  a  father's  health 
And  safety  dear  :  but,  e'en  as  we  could  wish, 
Behold  him  here !     If  what  I  have  advised 
Seem  fitting,  he  is  come  in  happiest  hour 
To  execute  our  purpose. 

SCEISE   11. 

Hyllus,  Deianira,  Attendant. 

Dei.  O  my  son  I 

Oft  from  the  meanest  tongue  the  words  of  truth 
And  safety  flow.     This  woman,  though  a  slave, 
Hath  spoke  what  would  have  well  become  the  mouth 
Of  freedom's  self  to  utter. 

Hyl.  May  I  know 

What  she  hath  said  ? 

Dei.  She  says  it  doth  reflect 

Disgrace  on  thee,  thy  father  so  long  absent, 
Not  to  have  gained  some  knowledge  of  his  fate. 

Hyl.  I  have  already,  if  I  may  rely 
On  what  report  hath  said  of  him. 

Dei.  Oh,  wliere — 

Where  is  he  then,  my  son  ^ 

Hyl.  These  twelve  months  past, 

If  fame  say  true,  a  Lydian  woman  held  him 
In  shameful  servitude. 

Dei.  If  it  be  so, 

May  every  tongue  reproach  him  ! 

Hyl.  But  1  hear 

He  now  is  free. 


i84 


TRACHINIjE. 


Dei.  And  where  doth  rumour  say 

He  is  ?  alive  or  dead. 

Hyl.  'Tis  said,  he  leads, 

Or  means  to  lead,  his  forces  towards  Euboea, 
Tlie  land  of  Eurytus. 

Dei.  Alas  !  my  son, 

Dost  thou  not  know  the  oracles  he  left 
Touching  that  kingdom  ? 

Hyl.  No,  I  know  not  of  them  ; 

What  were  they  ? 

Dei.  There,  he  said,  or  he  should  die. 

Or  if  he  should  survive,  his  life  to  come 
Would  all  be  happy.     Wilt  thou  not,  my  son, 
In  this  important  crisis  strive  to  aid 
Thy  father  %     If  he  lives,  we  too  shall  live 
In  safety.     If  he  dies,  we  perish  with  him. 

Hyl.  Mother,  I  go.     Long  since  I  had  been  there 
But  that  the  oracle  did  never  reach 
Mine  ears  before.     Meantime  that  happy  fate, 
Which  on  my  father  ever  wont  to  smile 
Propitious,  should  not  suffer  us  to  fear  ; 
Thus  far  informed,  I  will  not  let  the  means 
Of  truth  escape  me,  but  will  know  it  all. 

Dei.  Haste  then  away,  my  son;  and  know,  good  deeds, 
Though  late  performed,  are  crowned  with  sure  success. 


Scene  III. 


Chorus,  Deianira,  Attendant. 

Strophe  i. 

On  thee  we  call,  great  god  of  day, 
To  whom  the  night,  with  all  her  staiTy  train, 
Yields  her  solitary  reign, 
To  send  us  some  propitious  I'ay  : 
Say  thou,  whose  all-beholding  eye 
Doth  nature's  every  part  descry. 
What  dangerous  ocean,  or  what  land  unknown 
From  Deianira  keeps  Alcmena's  valiant  son. 


TRACHINT^.  185 

Antistrophe  i. 

For  she  nor  joy  nor  comfort  knows, 
But  weeps  her  absent  lord,  and  vainly  tries 
To  close  her  ever-streaming  eyes. 

Or  soothe  her  sorrows  to  repose  : 
Like  the  sad  bird  of  night,  alone 
She  makes  her  solitary  moan  ; 
Aiid  still,  as  on  her  widowed  bed  reclined 
She  lies,  unnumbered  fears  perplex  her  anxious  mind. 

Strophe  2. 

E'en  as  the  troubled  billows  roar, 
When  angry  Boreas  rules  th'  inclement  skies. 
And  waves  on  waves  tumultuous  rise 

To  lash  the  Cretan  shore  : 
Thus  sorrows  still  on  sorrows  prest 
Fill  the  great  Alcides'  breast ; 
Unfading  yet  shall  his  fair  virtues  bloom, 
And  some  protecting  god  preserve  him  from  the  tomb. 

Antistrojjhe  2. 

"Wherefore,  to  better  thoughts  inclined, 
Let  us  with  hope's  fair  prospect  fill  thy  breast, 
Calm  thy  anxious  thoughts  to  rest, 

And  ease  thy  troubled  mind  : 
No  bliss  on  man,  unmixed  with  woe. 
Doth  Jove,  great  lord  of  all,  bestow ; 
But  good  with  ill,  and  pleasure  still  with  pain, 
Like  heaven's  revolving  signs,  alternate  reign. 

Epode. 

Not  always  do  the  shades  of  night  remain, 

Nor  ever  with  hard  fate  is  man  oppressed  ; 
The  wealth  that  leaves  us  may  return  again, 
Sorrow  and  joy  successive  fill  the  breast ; 
Fearless  then  of  every  ill. 
Let  cheerful  hope  support  thee  still : 
Remember,  queen,  there  is  a  power  above ; 
And  when  did  the  great  father,  careful  Jove, 
Forget  his  children  dear,  and  kind  paternal  love  1 


1 86 


TRACIIIMjE, 


Dei.  The  fame,  it  seems,  of  Deianira's  woes 
Hatli  reached  thine  ears,  but  oh  !   thou  little  knowst 
What  1  have  suffered  !     Thou  hast  never  felt 
Sorrows  like  mine.     And  long  may  be  the  time 
Ere  sad  experience  shall  aftiict  thy  soul 
With  equal  woes  !    Alas  !  the  youthful  maid 
In  flowery  pastures  still  exulting  feeds, 
Nor  feels  the  scorching  sun,  the  wintry  storm, 


Or  blast  of  angry 


Secure  she  leads 


A  life  of  pleasure,  void  of  every  care, 

Till  to  the  virgin's  happy  state  succeeds 

The  name  of  wife.     Tlien  shall  her  portion  come 

Of  pain  and  anguish,  then  her  terrors  rise 

For  husband  and  for  children.     Then  perchance 

You  too  may  know  what  'tis  to  be  unhappy, 

And  judge  of  my  misfortunes  by  your  own. 

Long  since  oppressed  by  many  a  bitter  woe 

Oft  have  1  wept,  but  this  transcends  them  all ; 

For  I  will  tell  thee,  when  Abides  last 

Forth  on  his  journey  went,  he  left  behind 

An  ancient  scroll.     Alas  !  before  that  time 

In  all  his  labours  he  did  never  use 

To  speak  as  one  who  thought  of  death — secure 

Always  he  seemed  of  victory  ;  but  now 

This  writing  marks,  as  if  he  were  to  die, 

The  portion  out  reserved  for  me,  and  wills 

Ilis  children  to  divide  th'  inheritance  ; 

Fixes  the  time,  in  fifteen  moons,  it  saj^s. 

He  should  return.     That  past  or  he  must  perish, 

Or,  if  he  'scape  the  fatal  houi",  thenceforth 

Should  lead  a  life  of  happiness  and  joy : 

Thus  had  the  gods,  it  said,  decreed  his  life 

And  toils  should  end  :  so  from  their  ancient  beach 

Dodona's  doves  foretold.     Th'  appointed  hour 

Approaehes  that  must  bring  th'  event,  e'en  now, 

My  friends,  and  therefore  nightly  do  I  start 

From  my  sweet  slumbers,  struck  with  deadly  fear. 

Lest  I  should  lose  the  dearest,  best  of  men. 

Chor.  Of  better  omen  be  thy  words      Behold 
A  messenger,  who  bears  (for  on  his  brow 
1  see  the  laurel  crown)  some  joyful  news. 


TRACHINI^.  iSy 

Scene  IV. 
Messenger,  Deianika,  Attendant,  Chorus. 

Mes.  I  come,  my  royal  mistress,  to  remove 
Thy  fears,  and  bring  the  first  glad  tidings  to  thee, 
To  tell  thee  that  Alcmena's  son  returns 
With  life  and  victory ;  e'en  now  he  comes 
To  lay  before  his  country's  gods  the  spoils 
Of  glorious  war. 

Dei.  What  dost  thou  say,  old  man  ? 

What  dost  thou  tell  me  1 

Mes.  That  thy  dear  Alcides, 

Thy  valiant  lord,  with  his  victorious  bands, 
Will  soon  attend  thee. 

Dei.  From  our  citizens 

Didst  thou  learn  this,  or  from  a  stranger's  tongue  ? 

Mes.  The  herald  Lichas,  in  yon  flowery  vale, 
But  now  reported,  and  I  fled  impatient 
Soon  as  I  heard  it,  that  1  first  might  tell  thee 
And  be  rewarded  for  the  welcome  tale. 

Dei.  But  wherefore  tarries  Lichas  if  he  bring 
Glad  tidings  to  me  ? 

Mes.  'Tis  impossible 

To  reach  thee,  for  the  Melian  people  throng 
Around  him — not  a  man  but  longs  to  know 
Some  news  of  thy  Alcides,  stops  his  journey, 
Nor  will  release  him  till  he  hear  it  all. 
Spite  of  himself  he  waits  to  satisfy 
Their  eager  doubts ;  but  thou  wilt  see  him  soon. 

Dei.  0  thou  who  dwellst  on  (Eta's  sacred  top. 
Immortal  Jove  !   At  length,  though  late,  thou  giv'.st 
The  wished-for  boon.    Let  every  female  now — 
You  that  within  the  palace  do  reside, 
And  you,  my  followers  here — with  shouts  proclaim 
The  blest  event !     For,  lo  !  a  beam  of  joy, 
I  little  hoped,  breaks  forth,  and  we  are  happy. 


1 88 


TRACHINI^. 


Strophe. 

Quick  let  sounds  of  mirth  and  joy 
Every  cheerful  hour  employ  ; 
Haste,  and  join  the  festive  song, 
You,  who  lead  the  youthful  throng, 
On  whom  the  smiles  of  prosperous  fate, 
And  Hymen's  promised  pleasures  wait, 
Now  all  your  lo  Paeans  sing 
To  Phoebus,  3'our  protector  and  your  lung. 

Antistrophe. 

And  you,  ye  virgin  train,  attend, 
Not  unmindful  of  your  friend, 
His  sister  huntress  of  the  gi'oves. 
Who  still  her  native  Delos  loves — 
Prepare  the  dance,  and  choral  lays, 
To  hymn  the  chaste  Diana's  praise  ; 
To  her,  and  her  attendant  choir 
Of  mountain-nymphs,  attune  the  votive  lyre. 

Ejyode, 

Already  hath  the  god  possessed 
My  soul,  and  rules  the  sovereign  of  my  breast ; 

Evoe,  Bacchus  I   lo  !   I  come  to  join 
Thy  throng.    Around  me  doth  the  thyrsus  twine 
And  I  am  filled  with  rage  divine ; 
See  !  the  glad   messenger  appean? 
To  calm  thy  doubts,  and  to  remove  thy  fears 

Let  us  our  lo  Pseans  sing 
To  Phoebus,  our  protector  and  our  king. 


TRACHINI^.  189 

ACT  II. 

Scene    I. 

Deianira,  Chorus. 

Deianira.  These  eyes  deceive  me,  friends,  or  I  behold 
A  crowd  approach  this  way,  and  with  them  comes 
The  herald  Lichas.     Let  me  welcome  him, 
If  he  bring  joyful  news. 

Scene  II. 
Lichas,  Idle,  Slaves,  Deianira,  Chorus. 

Lie.  My  royal  mistress, 

We  greet  thee  with  fair  tidings  of  success, 
And  therefore  shall  our  words  deserve  thy  praise. 

Dei.  0  thou  dear  messenger  !    Inform  me  first 
What  first  I  wish  to  know,  my  loved  Alcides, 
Doth  he  yet  live — shall  I  again  behold  him  % 

Lie.  I  left  him  well.     In  health  and  manly  strength 
Exulting. 

Dei.         Where?     In  his  own  native  land, 
Or  'midst  barbarians  ? 

Lie.  On  Euboea's  shore 

He  waits,  with  various  fruits  to  crown  the  altar, 
And  pay  due  honours  to  Censean  Jove. 

Dei.  Commanded  by  some  oracle  divine 
Performs  he  this,  or  means  but  to  fulfil 
A  vow  of  gratitude  for  conquest  gained  ? 

Lie.  For  victory  o'er  the  land,  whence  we  have 
brought 
These  captive  women,  whom  thou  seest  before  thee. 

Dei.  Whence  come  the  wretched  slaves  ?  for  if  I 
judge 
Their  state  aright,  they  must  indeed  be  wretched. 

Lie.  Know,  when  Alcides  had  laid  waste  the  city 


TRACHINtM. 


Of  Eurytus,  to  him  and  to  the  gods 
Were  these  devoted. 

Dei.  Ill  CEchalia  then 

Hath  my  Alcides  been  this  long,  long  time  % 

Lie.  Not  so :  in  Lydia  (as  himself  reports) 
Was  he  detained  a  slave.     So  Jove  ordained ; 
And  who  shall  blame  the  high  decrees  of  Jove  ? 
Sold  to  barbarian  Omphale,  he  served 
Twelve  tedious  months ;  ill  brooked  he  the  foul  shame. 
Then  in  his  wrath  he  made  a  solemn  vow 
He  would  revenge  the  wrong  on  the  base  author, 
And  bind  in  chains  his  >vife  and  all  his  race : 
Nor  fruitless  the  resolve,  for  when  the  year 
Of  slavery  past  had  expiated  the  crime 
Imputed,  soon  with  gathered  force  he  mai'ched 
'Gainst  the  devoted  Eurytus,  the  cause 
(For  so  he  deemed  him)  of  those  hateful  bonds. 
Within  his  palace  he  had  erst  received 
Alcides,  but  with  bitterest  taunts  reviled  him, 
Boasting,  in  spite  of  his  all-conquering  arrows, 
His  son's  superior  skill,  and  Siiid  a  slave 
Like  him  should  bend  beneath  a  freeman's  power ; 
Then,  midst  the  banquet's  mirth,  inflamed  with  wine, 
Cast  forth  his  ancient  guest.     This  to  revenge 
When  Iphitus  to  search  his  pastured  steeds 
Came  to  Tyrinthia,  Hercules  surprised, 
And,  as  he  turned  his  wandering  eyes  aside. 
Hurled  headlong  from  the  mountain's  top.     Great  Jov 
Father  of  men,  from  high  Olympus  saw 
And  disapproved  the  deed,  unworthy  him 
Who  ne'er  before  by  fraud  destroyed  his  foes ; 
With  open  force  had  he  revenged  the  wrong 
Jove  had  forgiven,  but  violence  concealed 
The  gods  abhoi-,  and  therefore  was  he  sold 
To  slavery.     Eurytus'  unhappy  sons 
Were  punished  too,  and  dwell  in  Erebus ; 
Their  city  is  destroyed,  and  they,  whom  here 
Thou  seest,  from  freedom  and  prosperity. 
Reduced  to  wretchedness.     To  thee  they  come, 
Such  was  Alcides'  will ;  which  I,  his  slave. 
Have  faithfully  performed.     Himself  ere  long 


TRACE  IN I^,  191 

Thou  shalt  behold,  whon  to  paternal  Jove 

He  hath  fultilled  his  vows.     Thus  my  long  tale 

Ends  with  the  welcomest  news  which  thou  couklst 

hear : 
Alcides  comes ! 

Chor.  0  queen  !  thy  happiness 

Is  great  indeed,  to  see  these  slav^es  before  thee, 
And  know  thy  lord  approaches. 

Dei.  I  am  happy — 

To  see  my  Hercules  with  victory  crowned 
'Tis  fit  I  should  rejoice ;  and  yet,  my  friends, 
If  we  consider  well,  we  still  should  fear 
For  the  successful,  lest  they  fall  from  bliss. 
It  moves  my  pity  much  when  I  behold 
These  wretched  captives  in  a  foreign  land, 
Without  8,  parent  and  without  a  home.. 
Thus  doomed  to  slavery  here,  who  once  perhaps 
Enjoyed  fair  freedom's  best  inheritance  : 
0  Jove  !  averter  of  each  mortal  ill, 
Let  not  my  children  ever  feel  thy  arm 
Thus  raised  against  them  %  or,  if  'tis  decreed, 
Let  it  not  be  whilst  Deianira  Jives : 
The  sight  of  these  alarms  my  fears.     But  tell  me 
Thou  poor  afflicted  captive,  who  thou  art.     \To  Idle. 
Art  thou  a  mother  ?  or,  as  by  thy  years 
Thou  seemst,  a  vii-gin,  and  of  noble  birth  % 
Canst  not  thou  tell  me,  Lichas,  whence  she  sprang  ? 
Inform  me,  for  of  all  these  slaves  she  most 
Hath  won  my  pity,  and  in  her  alone 
Have  I  observed  a  firm  and  generous  mind. 

Lie.  Why  ask  of  me  1     I  know  not  who  she  is; 
Perhaps  of  no  mean  rank. 

Dei.  The  royal  race 

Of  Eurytus? 

Lie.  1  know  not,  nor  did  e'er 

Inquire. 

Dei.       And  didst  thou  never  hear  her  name 
From  her  companions  % 

Lie.  Kever.     I  performed 

My  v.'ork  is  silence. 

De.t.  Tell  me  then  thyself, 


u)2  TRACHINL^. 

Thou  wretched  maid,  for  I  am  most  unhappy 
Till  I  know  who  thou  art. 

Lie.  She  will  not  speak ; 

I  know  she  will  not.     Not  a  word  hnth  pas.sed 
Her  lips  e'er  since  she  left  her  native  land, 
But  still  in  tears  the  liapless  virgin  mourns 
The  burthen  of  her  sad  calamity. 
Her  fate  is  hard :  she  merits  your  forgiveness. 

Dei,   Let  her  go  in  :  I'll  not  disturb  her  peace, 
Nor  would  I  heap  fresh  sorrows  on  her  head, 
She  hath  enough  already.     We'll  retire. 
Go  where  thou  wilt ;  my  cares  within  await  me.  \To  Idle. 
\Exmnt  LicnAS,  Tole,  and  Slaves. 


Scene   III. 
Messenger,  Deianira,  Chorus. 

Mes.  Stay  thee  awhile.     I  have  a  tale  to  tell 
Touching  these  captives,  which  imports  thee  nearly, 
And  I  alone  am  able  to  inform  thee. 

Dei.  What  dost  thou  know  ?  and  why  wouldst  thou 
detain  me  ? 

Mes.  Return,  and  hear  me ;  when  I  spake  before 
1  did  not  speak  in  vain,  nor  shall  I  now. 

Dei.  Wouldst  thou  I  call  them  back,  or  meanst  to 
tell 
Thy  secret  purpose  here  to  me  alone  ? 

Mes.  To  thee,  and  these  thy  friends  — no  more. 

Dei.  They're  gone. 

Now  speak  in  safety. 

Mes.  Lichas  is  dishonest, 

And  either  now,  or  when  I  saw  him  last, 
Hath  uttered  falsehood. 

Dei.  Ha  !  what  dost  thou  say  % 

I  understand  thee  not— explain  it  quickly ! 

Mes.  I  heard  him  say,  before  attendant  crowds, 
It  was  4.his  virgin,  this  fair  slave  destroyed 
(Echalia's  lofty  towers  :  'twas  love  alone 
That  waged  the  war — no  Lydian  servitude, 
Nor  Omphale,  nor  the  pretended  fall 


TRACHINI^.  193 

Of  Iphytus — for  so  the  tale  he  brings 

Would  fain  persuade  thee.     Know,  thy  own  Alcides, 

For  that  he  could  not  gain  th'  assenting  voice 

Of  Eurytus  to  his  unlawful  love, 

Laid  waste  the  city  where  her  father  reigned, 

And  slew  him.     Now  the  daughter,  as  a  slave, 

Is  sent  to  thee.     The  reason  is  too  plain  : 

Nor  think  he  meant  her  for  a  slave  alone — 

The  maid  he  loves,  that  would  be  strange  indeed ! 

My  royal  mistress,  most  unwillingly 

Do  I  report  th'  unwelcome  news,  but  thought 

It  was  my  duty  :  I  have  told  the  truth. 

And  the  Trachinians  bear  me  witness  of  it. 

Dei.  Wretch  that  I  am  !     To  what  am  I  reserved  % 
What  hidden  pestilence  within  my  roof 
Have  I  received  unknowing  !     Hapless  woman  ! 
She  seemed  of  beauteous  form  and  noble  birth ; 
Have  you  not  heard  her  name  %  for  Lichas  said 
He  knew  it  not. 

Mes.  Daughter  of  Eurytus, 

Her  name  lole  ;  he  had  not  inquired 
Touching  her  race. 

Chor.  Perdition  on  the  man, 

Of  all  most  wicked,  who  hath  thus  deceived  thee  ! 

Dei.  What's  to  be  done,  my  friend  %     This  dreadful 
news 
Afflicts  me  sorely. 

Chor.  Go,  and  learn  the  whole 

From  his  own  lips  ;  compel  him  to  declare 
The  truth. 

Dei.  I  will ;  thou  counselst  me  aright. 

Chor.  Shall  we  attend  you  ? 

Dei.  No  ;  for  see  he  comes, 

Uncalled. 

Scene  IY. 

Lichas,  Deianira,  Attendant,  Messenger,  Chorus. 

Lie.  0  queen  !  what  are  thy  last  commands 
To  thy  Alcides  %  for  e'en  now  I  go 
To  meet  him. 

o 


Tr)|  TRACHINIJE. 

Dei.  ITast  thou  ta'cn  so  long  a  journey 

To  Trachis,  and  wouldst  now  .so  soon  i*eturn, 
Vi\%  1  can  hold  some  further  converse  with  thee ] 

Lie.  If  thou  wouldst  question  me  of  aught,  behold 
me 
J'leady  to  tell  thee. 

Dei.  Wilt  thou  tell  me  truth  \ 

Lie.  In  all  I  know ;  so  bear  me  witness,  Jove  ! 

Dei.  Who  is  that  woman  thou  has  brought  ? 

I.ic.  I  hear 

She's  of  Euboea ;  for  her  race  and  name 
I  know  them  not. 

Dei.  Look  on  me ;  who  am  I  ? 

Lie.  Why  ask  me  this  ? 

Dei.  Be  bold,  and  answer  mo. 

Lie.  Daughter  of  (Eneus,  wife  of  Hercules, 
If  I  am  not  deceived  'tis  Deianira, 
My  queen,  my  mistress  ? 

Dei.  Am  I  so  indeed  ? 

Am  I  thy  mistress  ? 

Lie.  Doubtless. 

Dei.  Why,  'tis  well 

Thou  dost  confess  it :  then  wdiat  punishment 
Wouldst  thou  deserve  if  thou  wert  faithless  to  her  1 

Lie.  How  faithless  ?  meanst  thou  to  betray  me  ? 

Dei.  '^o 

The  fraud  is  thine. 

Lie.  'Twas  folly  thus  to  stay 

And  hear  thee.     I  must  hence. 

Dei.  Thou  shalt  not  go 

Till  I  have  asked  thee  one  short  question. 

Lie.  Ask  it, 

For  so  it  seems  thou  art  resolved. 

Dei.  Inform  me ; 

This  captive — dost  thou  know  her? 

Li<^'-  I  have  told  thee ; 

What  wouldst  thou  more  % 

Dei.  Didst  thou  not  say,  this  slave — 

Though  now,  it  seems,  thou  knov/st  her  not — was 

daughter 
Of  Eurytus,  her  name  lole  ! 


TRACHINI^.  195 

Lie.  Where  % 

To  whom  did  I  say  this  ?     What  witness  have  you  ? 

Dei.  Assembled  multitudes.     The  citizens 
Of  Trachis  heard  thee. 

Lie.  They  might  say  they  heard 

Reports  like  these.     But  must  it  therefore  seem 
A  truth  undoubted  % 

Dei.  Seem  "?    Didst  thou  not  swear 

That  thou  hadst  brought  this  woman  to  partake 
The  bed  of  my  Alcides  ? 

Lie.  Did  I  say  so  % 

But  tell  me  who  this  stranger  is. 

Dei.  The  man 

Who  heard  thee  say,  Alcides'  love  for  her, 
And  not  the  Lydian,  laid  the  city  waste. 

Lie.  Let  him  come  forth  and  prove  it.     'Tis  no  mark 
Of  wisdom  thus  to  trifle  with  th'  unhappy. 

Dei.  Oh  !  do  not,  I  beseech  thee  by  that  power 
Whose  thunders  roll  o'er  CEta's  lofty  grove, 
Do  not  conceal  the  truth.     Thou  speakst  to  one 
Not  unexperienced  in  the  ways  of  men — 
To  one  who  knows  we  cannot  always  joy 
In  the  same  object.     'Tis  an  idle  task 
To  take  up  arms  against  all-powerful  love  : 
Love  which  commands  the  gods.     Love  conquered  me, 
And  wherefore  should  it  not  subdue  another, 
Whose  nature  and  whose  passions  are  the  same  % 
If  my  Alcides  is  indeed  oppressed 
With  this  sad  malady,  I  blame  him  not ; 
That  were  a  folly.     Nor  this  hapless  maid, 
Who  meant  no  ill,  no  injury  to  me. 
'Tis  not  for  this  I  speak.     But,  mark  me  well ; 
If  thou  wert  taught  by  him  to  utter  falsehood, 
A  vile  and  shameful  lesson  didst  thou  learn ; 
And  if  thou  art  thy  own  instructor,  know 
Thou  shalt  seem  wicked  e'en  when  most  sincere, 
And  never  be  believed.     Speak  then  the  truth ; 
For  to  be  branded  with  the  name  of  liar 
Is  ignominy  fit  for  slaves  alone. 
And  not  for  thee.     Nor  think  thou  canst  conceal  it ; 
Those  who  have  heard  the  tale  will  tell  it  nie. 


TRACHTNIM. 


If  fear  deters  thee,  thou  hast  little  cause ; 

For  to  susi>ect  his  falsehood  is  my  grief — 

To  know  it,  none.     Already  have  I  seen 

Alcides'  heart  estranged  to  other  loves, 

Yet  did  no  rival  ever  hear  from  me 

One  bitter  word,  nor  will  1  now  reproach 

This  wretched  slave,  e'en  though  she  pines  for  him 

With  strongest  love.     Alas  !  I  pity  her. 

Whose  beauty  thus  hath  been  the  fatal  cause 

Of  all  her  misery,  laid  her  country  waste, 

And  brought  her  here,  far  from  her  native  land, 

A  helpless  captive.     But  no  more  of  this; 

Only  remember,  if  thou  must  be  false, 

Be  false  to  others,  but  be  true  to  me. 

Chor.  She  speaks  most  kindly  to  thee.    Be  persuaded. 
Hereafter  thou  shalt  find  her  not  ungrateful ; 
We  too  will  thank  thee. 

Lie.  0  my  dearest  mistress  ! 

Not  vinexperienced  thou  in  human  life, 
Nor  ignorant.     And  therefore  naught  from  thee 
Will  I  conceal,  but  tell  thee  all  the  truth  : 
'Tis  as  he  said,  and  Hercules  indeed 
Doth  love  lole.     For  her  sake  alone 
QCchalia,  her  unhappy  country,  fell ; 
This — for  'tis  fit  I  tell  thee — he  confessed, 
Nor  willed  me  to  conceal  it.     But  I  feared 
'Twould  pierce  thy  heart  to  hear  th'  unwelcome  tale, 
And  therefore  own  I  would  have  kept  it  from  thee  3 
That  crime,  if  such  it  was,  1  have  committed. 
But  since  thou  knowst  it  all,  let  me  entreat  thee, 
For  her  sake  and  thy  own,  oh  !  do  not  hate 
This  wretched  captive,  but  remember  well, 
What  thou  hast  promised  faithfully  perform. 
He,  whose  victorious  arm  hath  conquered  all, 
Now  yields  to  her,  and  is  a  slave  to  love. 

Dei.  'Tis  my  resolve  to  act  as  thou  advisest. 
I'll  not  resist  the  gods,  nor  add  fresli  weight 
To  my  calamity.     Let  us  go  in. 
That  thou  mayst  bear  my  orders  to  Alcides, 
And  with  them  gifts  in  kind  return  for  those 
We  have  received  from  him.     Thou  must  not  hcn<e 


TRACHINLE.  197 

With  empty  hand,  who  hither  broughtst  to  me 

Such  noble  presents  and  so  fair  a  train.  [Exeunt. 


Scene    V. 
Chorus. 

Strophe. 

Thee,  Venus,  gods  and  men  obey, 

And  universal  is  thy  sway ; 
Need  I  recount  the  powers  subdued  by  love  % 

Neptune,  who  shakes  the  solid  ground. 

The  king  of  Erebus  profound, 
Or,  the  great  lord  of  all,  Saturnian  Jove  ? 

To  mortals  let  the  song  descend, 

To  pity  our  afflicted  friend. 
And  soothe  the  injurd  Deianira's  woes  : 

For  her  the  angry  rivals  came. 

For  her  they  felt  an  equal  flame, 
For  her,  behold  !  the  doubtful  battle  glows. 

Antistrophe. 

In  dreadful  majesty  arrayed, 
Affrighting  sore  the  fearful  maid. 

Uprose  the  horned  monarch  of  the  flood ; 
He  who  through  fair  ^tolia's  plain 
Pours  his  rich  tribute  to  the  main  : 

A  bull's  tremendous  form  belied  the  god  ; 
From  his  own  Thebes,  to  win  her  love, 
With  him  the  happier  son  of  Jove, 

The  great  Alcides  came,  and  in  his  hand 

The  club,  the  bow,  and  glittering  spear ; 
Whilst  Venus,  to  her  votaries  near, 

Waved  o'er  their  heads  her  all-deciding  wand. 

Epode. 

Warm  and  more  warm  the  conflict  grows. 
Dire  was  the  noise  of  rattling  bows. 


TRACHINIJE, 

Of  front  to  front  opposed,  and  hand  to  hand ; 
Deep  was  the  animated  strife 
For  love,  for  conquest,  and  for  life  ; 

Alternate  groans  re-echoed  thro'  the  land  : 
Whilst  pensive  on  the  distant  shore 
She  heard  the  doubtful  battle  roar, 

Many  a  sad  tear  the  hapless  virgin  shed  ; 
Far  from  her  tender  mother's  arms. 
She  knows  not  yet  for  whom  her  charms 

She  keeps,  or  who  shall  share  her  bridal  bed. 


\Ex,cunL 


ACT  III. 


Scene    I. 


Deianira,  Chorus. 

Deianira.  My  guest,  in  pity  to  the  captive  train, 
Laments  their  woes,  and  takes  his  kind  farewell ; 
Meantime,  my  friends,  in  secret  came  I  here 
To  pour  forth  all  my  miseries,  and  impart 
To  you  my  inmost  thoughts — my  last  resolve. 
Alas  !  within  these  walls  I  have  received, 
Like  the  poor  sailor,  an  unhappy  freight 
To  sink  me  down  :  no  virgin,  but  a  wife — 
The  wife  of  my  Alcides ;  his  loved  arms 
Now  must  embrace  us  both.     My  faithful  lord — 
Faithful  and  good  I  thought  him — thus  rewards 
My  tender  cares,  and  all  the  tedious  toils 
I  suffered  for  him ;  but  I  will  be  calm, 
For  'tis  an  evil  I  have  felt  before. 
And  yet  to  live  with  her !  with  her  to  share 
My  husband's  bed  !     What  woman  can  support  it  % 
Her  youth  is  stealing  onward  to  its  prime. 
Whilst  mine  is  withered  ;  and  the  eye  which  longs 
To  pluck  the  opening  flower  from  the  dry  leaf 
Will  turn  aside.     Her  younger  charms,  I  fear, 
Have  conquered,  and  henceforth  in  name  alone 


TRACHINIjE.  199 

Shall  Deianira  be  Alcides'  wife. 

But  ill  do  rage  and  violence  become 

The  prudent  matron ;  therefore,  mark  me  well, 

And  hear  what  I  have  purposed  to  relieve 

My  troubled  heart.     Within  a  brazen  urn, 

Concealed  from  every  eye,  I  long  have  kept 

That  ancient  gift  which  Nessus  did  bequeath  me — 

The  hoary  centaur,  who  was  wont  for  hire 

To  bear  the  traveller  o'er  the  rapid  flood 

Of  deep  Evenus.     Not  with  oars  or  sail 

He  stemmed  the  torrent,  but  with  nervous  arm 

Opposed  and  passed  it.     Me,  when  first  a  bride 

I  left  my  father's  hospitable  roof 

With  my  Alcides,  in  his  arms  he  bore 

Athwart  the  current ;  half  way  o'er,  he  dared 

To  offer  vi.olence.     I  shrieked  aloud. 

When  lo !  the  son  of  Jove,  his  bow  swift  bent, 

Sent  forth  a  shaft  and  pierced  the  monster's  breast, 

Who  with  his  dying  voice  did  thus  address  me : 

"  Daughter  of  CEneus,  listen  to  my  words. 

So  shalt  thou  profit  by  the  last  sad  journey 

Which  I  shall  ever  go.     If  in  thy  hand 

Thou  take  the  drops  outflowing  from  the  wound 

This  arrow  made,  dipped  in  the  envenomed  blood 

Of  the  Lernaean  hydra,  with  that  charm 

Mayst  thou  subdue  the  heart  of  thy  Alcides, 

Nor  shall  another  ever  gain  his  love." 

Mindful  of  this,  my  friends — for  from  that  hour 

In  secret  have  I  kept  the  precious  gift — 

Behold  a  garment,  dipped  i'  th'  very  blood. 

He  gave  me ;  nor  did  I  forget  to  add 

What  he  enjoined,  but  have  prepared  it  all. 

I  know  no  evil  arts,  nor  would  I  learn  them. 

For  they  who  practise  such  are  hateful  to  me. 

I  only  wish  the  charm  may  be  of  power 

To  win  Alcides  from  this  virgin's  love, 

And  bring  him  back  to  Deianira's  arms, 

If  he  shall  deem  it  lawful,  but  if  not 

I'll  go  no  farther. 

CnoR.  Could  we  be  assurec^ 

Such  is  indeed  th'  eflfect,  'tis  well  determined. 


200 


TPACHINIjE, 


Dei.  I  cannot  but  believe  it,  tliough  as  yet 
Experience  never  hath  confirmed  it  to  me. 

Ciioii.  Thou  shouldst  be  certain ;  thou  but  seemst  to 
know 
If  thou  hast  never  tried. 

Dei.  I'll  try  it  soon. 

For  see  e'en  now  he  comes  out  at  the  portal : 
Let  him  not  know  our  purpose.     If  the  deed 
Be  wrong,  concealment  may  prevent  reproach  ; 
Therefore  be  silent. 

Scene  II. 


LicHAS,  Deianira,  Chorus. 

Lie.  Speak  thy  last  commands, 

Daughter  of  CEneus,  for  already  long 
Have  we  delayed  our  journey. 

Dei.  Know  then,  Lichas, 

That  whilst  thou  commun'dst  with  thy  friends,  myself 
Have  hither  brought  a  garment  which  I  wove 
For  my  Alcides ;  thou  must  bear  it  to  him. 
Tell  him,  no  mortal  must  with  touch  profane 
Pollute  the  sacred  gift,  nor  sun  behold  it, 
Nor  holy  temple,  nor  domestic  hearth, 
Ere  at  the  altar  of  paternal  Jove 
Himself  shall  wear  it.     'Twas  my  solemn  vow 
Whene'er  he  should  return,  that,  clothed  in  this, 
He  to  the  gods  should  offer  sacrifice. 
Bear  too  this  token :   he  will  know  it  well. 
Away  !     Remember  to  perform  thy  office, 
But  go  no  farther,  so  shall  double  praise 
And  favour  from  us  both  reward  thy  duty. 

Lie.   If  I  have  aught  of  skill,  by  Hermes  right 
Instructed  in  his  art,  I  will  not  fail 
To  bear  thy  gift,  and  faithful  to  report 
What  thou  hast  said. 

Dei.  Begone !     What  here  hath  passeO 

Thou  knowst. 

Lie.  I  do,  and  shall  bear  back  the  news 

That  all  is  well. 


TRACHINIM.  20 1 

Dei.  Thou  art  thyself  a  witness 

How  kindly  I  received  the  guest  he  sent  me. 

Lie.  It  filled  my  heart  with  pleasure  to  behold  it. 

Dei.  What  canst  thou  tell  him  more  ?     Alas  !  I  fear 
He'll  know  too  well  the  love  I  bear  to  him. 
Would  I  could  be  as  certain  he'd  return  it !         [Exeunt. 

Scene    III. 

Chorus. 

Stroplie  I. 

You  who  on  (Eta's  craggy  summit  dwell, 

Or  from  the  rock,  whence  gushing  riv'lets  flow, 

Bathe  in  the  warmer  springs  below. 

You  who  near  the  Melian  bay 

To  golden-shafted  Diana  hymn  the  lay. 

Now  haste  to  string  the  Ip^e,  and  tune  the  vocal  shell, 

Antistrophe  i. 

No  mournful  theme  demands  your  pensive  strain, 
But  such  as,  kindled  by  the  sacred  fire. 
The  Muses  might  themselves  admire — 
A  loud  and  cheerful  song.     For  see. 
The  son  of  Jove  returns  with  victory, 

And  richest  spoils  reward  a  life  of  toil  and  pain. 

Strophe  2. 

Far  from  his  native  land  he  took  his  way  : 

For  twelve  long  moons,  uncertain  of  his  fate. 
Did  we  lament  his  exiled  state. 
What  time  his  anxious  wife  deplored, 
With  never-ceasing  tears  her  absent  lord ; 

But  Mars  at  last  hath  closed  his  long  laborious  day. 

Antistrophe  2. 

Let  him  from  fair  Euboea's  isle  appear. 

Let  winds  and  raging  seas  oppose  no  more. 
But  waft  him  to  the  wished-for  shore. 
Th'  anointed  vest's  persuasive  charms 
Shall  bring  him  soon  to  Deianira's  arms. 

Soon  shall  we  see  the  great  the  loved  Alcides  here. 


202 


TRACHINI^, 


ACT  IV. 


Scene    I. 
Deianira,  Chorus. 


Deianika.  Alas  !  my  friends,  I  fear  I've  gone  too  far. 

Chor.  Great  queen,  in  what  ? 

Dei.  I  know  not  what,  but  dread 

Something  to  come ;  lest  where  I  had  most  hope 
Of  happiness,  I  meet  with  bitterest  woe. 

Chor.  Meanst  thou  thy  gift  to  Hercules  ? 

Dei.  I  do. 

Nor  would  I  henceforth  counsel  those  I  loved 
To  do  a  dark  and  desperate  deed  like  this, 
Uncertain  of  th'  event. 

Chor.  How  was  it  ?     Speak, 

If  thou  canst  teU  us. 

Dei.  Oh !  'twas  wonderful ! 

For  you  shall  hear  it.     Know  then,  the  white  wool 
Wherein  1  wrapped  th'  anointed  vest,  untouched 
By  any  hand,  dropped  self -consumed  away, 
And  down  the  stone,  e'en  like  a  liquid,  flowed 
Dissolving — but  'tis  fit  I  tell  you  all — 
Whate'er  the  wounded  centaur  did  enjoin  me 
Mindful  to  practise,  sacred  as  the  laws 
On  brazen  tablets  graved,  I  have  performed  : 
Far  from  the  fire,  and  from  the  sun's  warm  beams 
He  bade  me  keep  the  charm ;  from  every  eye 
In  secret  hid,  till  time  should  call  on  me 
To  anoint  and  use  it.     This  was  done  :  and  now, 
The  fleece  m  secret  plucked,  the  charm  prepared, 
Long  from  the  sun  within  a  chest  concealed ; 
At  length  I  brought  it  forth,  and  sent  the  gift 
To  my  Alcides,  when  behold  a  wonder, 
Most  strange  for  tongue  to  tell,  or  heart  of  man 
E'en  to  conceive  !     Perchance  the  wool  I  cast 
Into  the  sunshine ;  soon  as  it  grew  warm 
It  fell  to  dust,  consuming  all  away 
In  most  strange  manner,  then  from  th'  earth  uprose 


TRACHINIM.  203 

In  frothy  bubbles,  e'en  as  from  the  grape 

In  yellow  autumn  jBlows  the  purple  wine. 

I  know  not  what  to  thinly ;  but  much  I  fear 

I've  done  a  horrid  deed.     For,  why,  my  friends, 

Why  should  the  dying  savage  wish  to  serve 

His  murderer  ?     That  could  never  be.     Oh  no  ! 

He  only  meant  by  flattery  to  destroy 

Me,  his  destroyer.     Truth  is  come  too  late, 

And  I  alone  have  slain  my  dear  Alcides ; 

I  know  that  by  his  arrows  Chiron  fell, 

I  know  whate'er  they  touched  they  still  were  fatal, 

That  very  poison  mingled  with  the  blood 

Of  dying  Nessus,  will  not  that  too  kill 

My  Hercules  %     It  must :  but  if  he  dies, 

My  resolution  is  to  perish  with  him ; 

Those,  who  their  honour  and  their  virtue  prize, 

Can  never  live  with  infamy  and  shame. 

Chor.  'Tis  fit  we  tremble  at  a  deed  of  horror ; 
But  'tis  not  fitting,  ere  we  know  th'  event, 
To  give  up  hope,  and  yield  us  to  despair. 

Dei.  There  is  no  hope  where  evil  counsel 's  ta'en. 

Chor.  But  when  we  err  from  ignorance  alone, 
Small  is  the  crime  and  slight  tjie  punishment ; 
Such  is  thy  fault. 

Dei.  The  guiltless  may  talk  thus, 

Who  know  no  ill ;  not  those  who  are  unhappy. 

Chor.  No  more ;  unless  thou  meanst  thy  son  should 
hear  thee, 
Who  now  returns  in  search  of  thy  Alcides  ; 
Behold  him  here. 

Scene  IT. 
Hyllus,  Deianira,  Chorus. 

Hyl.  Oh  !  would  that  thou  wert  dead  ! 

Would  I  were  not  thy  son  !  or,  being  so, 
Would  I  could  change  thy  wicked  heart ! 

Dei.  My  son, 

What  means  this  passion  % 

Hyl.  Thou  hast  slain  thy  husband  ; 

This  very  day  my  father  hast  thou  slain. 


20.\ 


TRACHINL^.. 


Dei.  Alas  I  luy  eliild,  wliat  sayst  tlioii 
Hyl. 


\V1lMt  W 


And  therefore  must  be  ;  who  can  e'er  undo 
The  deed  tliat's  done  ? 

Dei.  But  who  could  say  I  did  it  \ 

Hyl.  1  saw  it  with  these  eyes ;  1  heaid  it  all 
From  his  own  lips. 

Dei.  Where  didst  thou  see  him  tlien  ? 

Tell  me,  oh  !  quickly  tell  me. 

Hyl.  '  If  I  must, 

Observe  me  well :  when  Hercules,  returned 
From  conquest,  had  laid  waste  the  noble  city 
(_)f  Kurytus,  with  fair  triumphal  spoils 
i  Ee  to  Euboea  came,  where  o'er  the  sea, 
Which  beats  on  every  side,  Oenseum's  top 
Hangs  dreadful,  thither  to  paternal  Jove 
His  new  raised  altars  in  the  leafy  wood 
He  came  to  visit :  there  did  my  glad  eyes 
Behold  Alcides  first.     As  he  prepared 
The  frequent  victim,  from  the  palace  came 
Lichas  thy  messenger,  and  wath  him  brought 
The  fatal  gift :  wrapped  in  the  deadly  garment 
(For  such  was  thy  command)  twelve  oxen  then 
Without  a  blemish,  firstlings  of  the  spoil, 
He  slew  ;  together  next  a  hundred  fell. 
The  mingled  fiock.     Pleased  with  his  gaudy  vest, 
And  happy  in  it,  he  awhile  remained, 
Offering  with  joy  his  grateful  sacrifice  ; 
But,  lo  !  when  from  the  holy  victim  rose 
The  bloody  flame,  and  from  the  pitchy  wood 
Exhaled  its  moisture,  sudden  a  cold  sweat 
Bedewed  his  limbs,  and  to  his  body  stuck 
As  by  the  hand  of  some  artificer 
Close  joined  to  every  part,  the  fatal  vest ; 
Convulsion  racked  his  bones,  and  through  his  veins, 
Like  the  fell  serpent's  deadly  venom,  raged ; 
Then  questioned  he  the  wretched  guiltless  Lichas 
By  what  detested  arts  he  had  procured 
The  poisoned  garb  ;  he,  ignorant  of  all, 
Could  only  say  it  was  the  gift  he  brought 
From  Deianira.     When  Alcides  heard  it. 


TRACHINI.E,  205 

Tortured  with  pain,  he  took  him  by  the  foot, 

And  hurled  him  headlong  on  a  pointed  rock 

That  o'er  the  ocean  hung;  his  brains  dashed  forth 

With  mingled  blood  flowed  through  his  clotted  hair 

In  horrid  streams ;  the  multitude  with  shrieks 

Lamented  loud  the  fury  of  Alcides, 

And  Lichas'  hapless  fate ;  none  durst  oppose 

His  raging  frenzy  ;  prostrate  on  the  earth 

Kow  would  he  lay  and  groan ;  and  now  uprising 

"Would  bellow  forth  his  griefs ;  the  mountain-tops 

Of  Locris,  and  Euboea's  rocks  returned 

His  dreadful  cries ;  then  on  the  ground  outstretched, 

In  bitterest  wrath  he  cursed  the  nuptial  bed 

Of  QEneus,  and  his  execrations  poured 

On  thee  his  worst  of  foes :  at  length  his  eyes, 

Distorted  forth  from  the  surrounding  smoke, 

He  cast  on  me,  who  midst  attending  crowds 

Wept  his  sad  fate ;  "  Approach,"  he  cried,  "  my  son, 

Do  not  forsake  thy  father ;  rather  come 

And  share  his  fate  than  leave  me  here,    oh  !  haste. 

And  take  me  hence  ;  bear  me  where  never  eye 

Of  mortal  shall  behold  me.     0  my  child, 

Let  me  not  perish  here."     Thus  spake  my  father, 

And  I  obeyed  :  distracted  with  his  pains 

A  vessel  brings  him  to  this  place,  and  soon 

Living  or  dead  you  will  behold  him  here. 

This  have  thy  horrid  machinations  done 

For  thy  Alcides  :     Oh  !  may  justice  doom  thee 

To  righteous  punishment,  if  it  be  lawful 

For  me  to  call  down  vengeance  on  a  mother. 

As  sure  it  is  on  one  who  hath  disclaimed 

All  piety  like  thee ;  the  earth  sustains  not 

A  better  man  than  him  whom  thou  has  murdered, 

Nor  shalt  thou  e'er  behold  his  like  again. 

\Exit  Deianira. 

Chor.  Whence  this  abrupt  departure  %     Knowst  thou 
not 
To  go  in  silence  thus  confirms  thy  guilt  % 

Hyl.  Let  her  be  gone  ;  and  may  some  prosperous 
gale 
Waft  her  far  off,  that  these  abhorring  eyes 


206  TRACHINI^K. 

May  never  see  her  more  !     What  boots  the  name 
Of  raothei',  when  no  longer  she  i:)erforms 
A  moihor's  duty  ?  Let  lier  go  in  peace, 
And  for  her  kindness  to  my  father  soon 
May  she  enjoy  the  blessing  she  bestowed  ! 


Chorus. 

Strophe  i. 

True  was  the  oracle  divine, 

Long  since  delivered  from  Dodona's  shrine, 
Which  said,  Alcides'  woes  should  last 
Till  twelve  revolving  years  were  past; 

Then  should  his  labours  end  in  sw^eet  repose 
Behold,  my  friends,  'tis  come  to  pass, 
'Tis  all  fultilled  ;  for  who,  alas  ! 

In  peaceful  death,  or  toil  or  slavery  knows  ? 

Antistroplie  i. 

If  deep  within  his  tortured  veins 
The  centaur's  cruel  poison  reigns. 
That  from  the  Hydra's  baleful  breath 
Destructive  flowed,  replete  with  death, 

On  him  another  sun  shall  never  rise  ; 

The  venom  runs  through  every  part. 
And,  lo  !  to  Nessus'  direful  art 

Alcides  falls  a  helpless  sacrifice. 

Strojyhe  2. 

Poor  Deianira  long  deplored 

Her  waning  charms,  and  ever  faithless  lord ; 
At  length  by  evil  counsel  swayed 
Her  passion's  dictates  she  obeyed, 

Resolved  Alcides'  doubtful  truth  to  prove ; 
But  now,  alas  !  laments  his  fate 
In  ceaseless  woe,  and  finds  too  late 

A  dying  husband,  and  a  foreign  love. 


Antistrophe  2. 

.  Another  death  must  soon  succeed, 

Another  victim  soon  shall  bleed, 

Fatal,  Alcides,  was  the  dart 

That  pierced  the  rival  monarch's  heart, 
And  brought  lole  from  her  native  land ; 

From  Yenus  did  our  sorrows  flow. 

The  secret  spring  of  all  our  woe, 
For  nought  was  done  but  by  her  dread  command. 


[^Exeunt, 


ACT  v. 


Scene   I. 

\A  noise  within  the  Palace.^ 

Chorus. 

Or  I'm  deceived,  or  I  did  hear  loud  shrieks 
Within  the  palace ;  'twas  the  voice  of  one 
In  anguish  ;  doubtless  some  calamity 
Hath  fallen  upon  us  now.     What  can  it  be  1 
But  see,  yon  matnon,  with  contracted  brow 
And  unaccustomed  sadness,  comes  to  tell 
The  dreadful  news. 

Scene  II. 

Nurse,  Chorus. 

Nurse.  What  woes,  my  hapless  daughter; 

Alcides'  fatal  gift  hath  brought  upon  us ! 

Chor.  What  dost  thou  tell  us  ? 

Nurse.  Deianira  treads 

The  last  sad  path  of  mortals. 

Chor.  Is  she  gone  ? 


2o8 


TRACHINI 


NuiisE.  'TIs  so  indeed. 

Cnoii.  What!  dead? 

NuiisE.  Again  I  say 

She  is  no  more. 

Cjigu.  Alas  !  how  did  she  perish  ? 

NuKSE.  Most  fearfully :  'twas  dreadful  to  behold. 

Chor.  How  fell  she  then  ? 

Nurse.  By  her  own  hand. 

Chor.  But  wherefore  ? 

What  madness,  what  disorder,  what  could  move  her 
To  perpetrate  so  terrible  a  deed  ? 
Thus  adding  death  to  death. 

Nurse.  The  fatal  steel 

Destroyed  her. 

Chor.  Didst  thou  see  it  ? 

Nurse.  I  was  by, 

Close  by  her  side. 

Chor.  How  was  it  ? 

Nurse.  Her  own  arm 

Struck  the  sad  blow. 

Chor.  Indeed ! 

Nurse.  Most  veritably. 

Chor.  In  evil  hour  this  rival  virgin  came 
To  bring  destruction  here. 

Nurse.  And  so  she  did  ; 

Hadst  thou  Hke  me  been  witness  to  the  deed, 
Thou  wouldst  much  more  have  pitied  her. 

Chor.  Alas ! 

How  could  a  woman  do  it  ? 

Nurse.  'Twas  most  dreadful, 

As  thou  shalt  hear,  for  I  will  tell  thee  all  : 
Soon  as  she  entered  at  the  palace  gate 
And  saw  her  son  prepare  the  funeral  bed. 
To  th'  inmovst  chamber  silent  she  retired 
From  every  eye,  there,  at  the  altar's  feet 
Falling,  lamented  loud  her  widowed  state ; 
And  ever  as  she  lit  on  aught  her  hands 
Had  used  in  happier  days,  the  tears  would  flow ; 
From  room  to  room  she  wandered,  and  if  chance 
A  loved  domestic  crossed  her  she  would  weep 
And  mourn  her  fate,  for  ever  now  deprived 


TRACHINI^.  209 

Of  converse  sweet,  and  hymeneal  joys ; 
Then  would  she  strew  her  garments  on  the  bed 
Of  her  Alcides  (for,  concealed,  I  watched 
Her  every  motion),  throw  herself  upon  it, 
And  as  the  tears  in  a  warm  flood  burst  forth, 
"  Farewell !  "  she  cried,  "  for  ever  farewell  now, 
My  nuptial  couch  !  for  never  shalt  thou  more 
Keceive  this  wretched  burthen."     Thus  she  spake, 
And  with  quick  hand  the  golden  button  loosed, 
Then  cast  her  robe  aside,  her  bosom  bared 
And  seemed  prepared  to  strike.     I  ran  and  told 
The  dreadful  purpose  to  her  son ;  too  late 
We  came,  and  saw  her  wounded  to  the  heart. 
The  pious  son  beheld  his  bleeding  mother, 
And  wept ;  for  well  he  knew,  by  anger  fired, 
And  the  fell  centaur's  cruel  fraud  betrayed, 
Unweeting  she  had  done  the  dreadful  deed. 
Close  to  her  side  he  laid  him  down,  and  joined 
His  lips  to  hers,  lamenting  sore  that  thus 
He  had  accused  her  guiltless ;  then  deplored 
His  own  sad  fate,  thus  suddenly  bereaved 
Of  both  his  parents.     You  have  heard  my  tale. 
Who  to  himself  shall  promise  length  of  life  ? 
None  but  the  fool.     For,  oh  !  to  day  alone 
Is  ours.     We  are  not  certain  of  to-morrow. 

Chor.  Which  shall  I  weep  ?  which  most  our  hefli'ts 
should  fill 
With  grief,  the  present  or  the  future  ill  % 
The  dying  or  the  dead  %    'Tis  equal  woe 
To  feel  the  stroke,  or  fear  th'  impending  blow. 

Strophe. 

Oh  !  for  a  breeze  to  waft  us  o'er 

Propitious  to  some  distant  shore  ! 

To  sliield  our  souls  from  sore  affright, 

And  save  us  from  the  dreadful  sight : 

That  sight  the  hardest  heart  would  move 

In  his  last  pangs  the  son  of  Jove  ; 
To  see  the  poison  run  through  every  vein, 
And  limbs  convulsed  with  agonising  pain. 


TRACHINI^. 


Antiatrophe. 

Behold  th'  attendant  train  is  nigh, 

I  hear  the  voice  of  misery  ; 

E'en  ;is  the  plaintive  nightingale, 

That  warbles  sweet  her  mournful  tale ; 

Silent  and  slow  they  lead  him  on  ; 

Hark  !  1  hear  Alcides  groan  ! 
Again  'tis  silence  all !    This  way  they  tread  ; 
Or  sleeps  he  now,  or  rests  he  with  the  dead  ? 


Scene  III. 
Hercules,  Hyllus,  Nurse,  Chorus,  Attendants. 

Hyl.  Alas  !  my  father;  whither  shall  I  go  ? 
Wretch  that  1  am.     Oh  !  where  shall  I  betake  me  ? 
What  will  become  of  thy  afflicted  son  ? 

Atten.  Speak  softly,  youth,  do  not  awake  his  pains ; 
Refrain  thy  grief,  for  yet  Alcides  lives, 
Though  verging  to  the  tomb  ;  be  calm. 

Hyl.  What  sayst  thou  ? 

Doth  he  yet  live  ? 

Atten.  He  doth ;  disturb  not  thus 

His^slumbers,  nor  provoke  the  dire  disease. 

Hyl.  Alas  !  I  cannot  bear  to  see  him  thus. 

Her.  \aiDakes\.  0  Jove  !  where  am  I,  and  with 
whom  ?     What  land 
Contains  the  wretched  Hercules,  oppressed 
With  never-ending  woes  ?     Ah  me  !  again 
The  deadly  poison  racks  me. 

Atten.  \to  Hyllus],  Seest  thou  not 

'Twere  better  far  to  have  remained  in  silence, 
And  not  awaked  him. 

Hyl.  'Twas  impossible 

Unmoved  to  look  on  such  calamity ; 
I  could  not  do  it. 

Her.  0  Censean  rocks  ! 

Where  smoke  the  sacred  altars,  is  it  thus, 
O  Jove  !  thou  dost  reward  my  piety? 


TRACHINTM. 

What  dreadful  punishment  is  this  thy  hand 

Hath  laid  on  me,  who  never  could  deserve 

Such  bitter  wrath  ?     What  incantations  now, 

What  power  of  medicine  can  assuage  my  pain^ 

Unless  great  Jove  assisted  %     Health  to  me 

Without  him  were  a  miracle  indeed. 

Let  me,  oh  !  let  me  rest ;  refuse  me  not 

A  little  slumber ;  why  will  ye  torment  me  ? 

Why  bend  me  forward  ?     Oh  !  'tis  worse  than  death  ; 

Had  you  not  waked  me,  I  had  been  at  peace. 

Again  it  rages  with  redoubled  force  ; 

Where  are  you  now,  ye  thankless  Grecians,  where. 

Whom  I  have  toiled  to  serve  on  the  rough  main, 

And  through  the  pathless  wood  %     Where  are  you  now 

To  help  a  dying  wretch  ?     Will  no  kind  hand 

Stretch  forth  the  friendly  sword,  or  in  the  flame 

Consume  me  %     None,  alas  !  will  cut  me  off 

From  hated  life. 

Atten.  0  youth  !  assist  thy  father ; 

It  is  beyond  my  strength  ;  thy  quicker  sight 
May  be  more  useful. 

Hyl.  My  poor  aid  is  ready ; 

But  wheresoe'er  I  am,  'tis  not  in  me 
To  expel  the  subtle  poison  that  destroys  him ; 
Such  is  the  will  of  Jove. 

Her.  My  son,  my  son  ! 

Where  art  thou?     Bear  me  up,  assist  me.     Oh  ! 
Again  it  comes,  th'  unconqnerable  ill, 
The  dire  disease.     0  Pallas  !  aid  me  now, 
Draw  forth  thy  sword,  my  son  ;  strike,  strike  thy  father, 
And  heal  the  wound  thy  impious  mother  made. 
Oh  !  could  I  see  her  like  myself  destroyed, 
I  should  be  happy  !     Brother  of  great  Jove, 
Sweet  Pluto,  hear  me  1     Oh  !  with  speedy  death 
Lay  me  to  rest,  and  bury  all  my  woes. 

Chor,  The  anguish  of  th'  unhappy  man,  my  friends, 
Is  terrible ;  I  tremble  but  to  hear  him. 

Her.  What  hath  this  body  suffered  %     Oh  !  the  toils, 
The  labours  I  endured,  the  pangs  I  felt, 
Unutterable  woes  !  but  never  aught 
So  dreadful  as  this  sore  calamity. 


TRACHINTA^, 


Oppressed  Alcides !     Not  the  wife  of  Jove, 

Nor  vile  Enrystliens,  could  torment  me  thus, 

As,  CEneus,  thy  deceitful  daughter  hath. 

Oh  !  1  am  tangled  in  a  cruel  net, 

Woven  by  the  Fui-ies  :  it  devours  my  flesh. 

Dries  up  my  veins,  and  drinks  the  vital  blood ; 

My  body  's  withered,  and  I  cannot  Ijreak 

Th'  indissoluble  chain.     Nor  hostile  spear. 

Nor  earth-born  giants,  nor  the  savage  herd, 

The  wild  Barbarian,  or  the  Grecian  host, 

Not  all  the  nations  I  have  journeyed  o'er 

Could  do  a  deed  like  this.     At  last  I  fall, 

Like  a  poor  coward,  by  a  woman's  hand, 

Unarmed  and  unassisted.     0  my  son  ! 

Now  prove  thyself  the  ofi'spring  of  Alcides ; 

Nor  let  thy  reverence  of  a  mother's  name 

Surpass  thy  duty  to  an  injured  father. 

Go,  bring  her  hither,  give  her  to  my  wrath, 

That  1  may  see  whom  thou  wilt  most  lament 

When  thou  beholdst  my  vengeance  fall  on  her. 

Fear  not,  my  son,  but  go.     Have  pity  on  me, 

Pity  thy  father :  all  must  pity  me. 

Whilst  they  behold,  e'en  as  the  tender  maid, 

Alcides  weep,  who  never  wept  before. 

I  bore  my  sorrows  all  without  a  groan. 

But  now  thou  seest  I  am  a  very  woman. 

Come  near,  my  child.     Oh !  think  what  I  endure. 

For  I  will  show  thee.     Look  on  this  poor  body — 

Let  all  behold  it :  what  a  sight  is  here  ! 

O  me  !  again  the  cruel  poison  tears 

My  entrails,  nor  affords  a  moment's  ease. 

Oh  !  take  me,  Pluto,  to  thy  gloomy  reign  ; 

Father  of  lightning,  mighty  Jove,  send  down 

Thy  bolt,  and  strike  me  now !     Again  it  racks, 

It  tortures  me  !     O  hands  !  that  once  had  strength, 

And  you,  my  sinewy  arms,  was  it  by  you 

The  terrible  Nemsean  lion  fell. 

The  dreadful  hydra,  and  the  lawless  race 

Of  centaurs  ?     Did  this  withered  hand  subdue 

The  Erymanthian  boar — wide-wasting  plague  ! 

^nd  from  the  shades  of  Orcus  drag  to  light 


TRACHINTJ^.,  21,3 

The  triple-hen ded  monster  ?     By  this  arm 

Did  the  fierce  guardian  of  the  golden  fruit 

In  Libya's  deserts  fall  ?     Unnumbered  toils 

Have  I  endured  of  old,  and  never  yet 

Did  mortal  bear  a  trophy  from  Alcides. 

But  nerveless  now  this  arm— see,  from  the  bone 

Darts  the  loose  flesh.     I  waste  beneath  the  power 

Of  this  dark  pestilence.     O  Hercules  ! 

Why  boast  thy  mother  sprung  of  nobler  race, 

And  vainly  call  thyself  the  son  of  Jove  % 

But,  mark  me  well :  this  creeping  shadow  still, 

Poor  as  it  is,  shall  yet  revenge  itself 

On  her  who  did  the  execrable  deed. 

Would  she  were  here  to  feel  my  wrath,  to  know 

And  teach  mankind  that  Hercules,  though  dead, 

As  whilst  he  lived,  can  scourge  the  guilty  still ! 

Chor.  Unhappy  Greece  !     How  wilt  thou  mourn  the 
Of  such  a  man  %  [loss 

Hyl.  Permit  me  but  to  speak. 

Distempered  as  thou  art,  my  father,  hear  me ; 
Nought  shall  I  ask  unfit  for  thee  to  grant ; 
Be  calm  and  listen  to  me ;  yet  thou  knowst  not 
How  groundless  thy  complaints,  and  what  new  joy 
Awaits  thee  still. 

Her.  Be  brief  then,  and  inform  me ; 

My  pains  afflict  me  so  I  cannot  guess 
Thy  subtle  purpose. 

Hyl.  'Twas  to  speak  of  her. 

My  mother ;  'twas  to  tell  thee  of  her  state 
And  how  unweeting  she  offended  thee. 

Her.  Thou  worst  of  children  !     Wouldst  thou  then 
defend 
The  murderer  of  thy  father  %     Dar'st  thou  thus 
Recall  the  sad  remembrance  of  her  crime? 

Hyl.  It  must  not  be  concealed ;  I  know  too  well 
I  can  no  longer  hide  it. 

Her.  What !     Her  guilt  ? 

'Tis  known  already. 

Hyl.  Thou  It  not  always  think  so. 

Her.  Speak  then,  but  take  good  heed  thou  sho\y 
thyself 


214 


TRACHINIyE. 


Worthy  thy  father. 

Hyl.  Know  then,  she  is  dead. 

Her.  Oh  !  dreadful,  murdered  ?     By  what  hand  ? 

Hyl.  Her  own. 

Her.  Would  she  had  fallen  by  mine  ! 

Hyl.  Alas  !  my  father, 

Didst  thou  know  all,  thy  anger  would  be  changed 
To  pity  for  her. 

Her.  That  were  strange  indeed ; 

Why  dost  thou  think  so  ? 

Hyl.  She  did  mean  thee  well, 

But  erred  unknowing. 

Her.  Meant  she  well  to  slay 

Thy  father? 

Hyl.  Thy  new  marriage  was  the  cause  : 

She  had  prepared  a  philtre  for  thy  love, 
And  knew  not  'twas  a  poison. 

Her.  But  say,  who 

So  skilled  in  magic  arts  at  Trachis  here 
Could  give  her  this  % 

Hyl  The  savage  centaur  Nessus, 

Who  did  persuade  her  it  would  restore  thy  love 
Given  to  another  wife. 

Her.  Undone,  Alcides  ! 

I  die,  my  child  ;  there  is  no  life  for  me. 
vVlas  !  I  see  it  now  ;  I  see  my  woes  ; 
Hyllus,  away,  thy  father  is  no  more ; 
Begone,  and  call  thy  brothers,  call  Alcmena, 
The  wife,  alas  !  in  vain,  the  wife  of  Jove ; 
Go,  bring  them  here,  that  wdth  my  latest  breath 
I  may  declare  my  fate  long  since  foretold 
By  oracles  divine. 

Hyl.  Alcmena 's  gone 

To  Tyrinth.     With  her  many  of  thy  sons 
Remain.     Some  dwell  at  Thebes,  the  rest  are  here, 
And  wait  with  me  to  hear  and  to  obey  thee. 

Her.  Then  listen  to  me,  for  the  time  is  come 
When  thou  must  prove  thy.self  indeed  my  son. 
Know,  Jove,  my  heavenly  sire,  long  since  foretold 
I  was  not  born  to  perish  by  the  hand 
Of  living  man,  but  from  some  habitant 


TRACHINIuE,  215 

Of  Pluto's  dark  abode  should  meet  my  fate. 

The  centaur  Nessus — so  was  it  fulfilled — 

Though  dead  destroyed  me.     But  I'll  tell  thee  more, 

New  oracles  confirmed  the  old,  for  know 

When  to  the  Selli's  sacred  grove  I  came — 

The  wandering  priests  who  o'er  the  mountains  roam, 

And  rest  their  wearied  limbs  on  the  cold  ground — 

An  ancient  oak  prophetic  did  declare 

That  if  I  lived  to  this  decisive  hour, 

Here  all  my  labours,  all  my  toils  should  end. 

I  thought  it  told  me  I  should  live  in  peace. 

Alas  !  it  only  meant  that  I  must  die. 

For  death  will  put  an  end  to  every  care. 

Since  thus  it  is,  my  son,  thou  too  must  join 

To  ease  Alcides.     Let  me  not  reproach  thee, 

But  yield  thy  willing  aid,  nor  e'er  forget 

The  best  of  laws,  obedience  to  a  father. 

Hyl.  Thy  words  affright  me ;  but  declare  thy 
purpose — 
Behold  me  ready  to  perform  thy  orders 
Whate'er  they  be. 

Her.  First  give  me  then  thy  hand. 

Hyl.  But  why  this  pledge,  and  wherefore  ansious 
thus 
Dost  thou  require  it  % 

Her.  Wilt  thou  give  it  me 

Or  dost  refuse  % 

Hyl.  There,  take  it ;  I  obey. 

Her.  First  swear  then  by  the  head  of  Jove  my  bire. 

Hyl.  I  will ;  but  what  ? 

Her.  Swear  that  thou  wilt  perform 

All  I  enjoin  thee. 

Hyl.  Bear  me  witness,  Jove  ! 

I  swear. 

Her.     And  imprecate  the  wrath  divine 
If  thou  performst  it  not. 

Hyl.  I  shall  not  fail ; 

But  if  I  do,  may  vengeance  swift  o'ertake  me ! 

Her.  Tliou  knowst  the  top  of  QEta's  sacred  hill. 

Hyl.  I  know  it  well,  and  many  a  sacrifice 
Have  oftered  there. 


2l6 


TRACHINT^ 


Heu.  Tliat  is  the  destined  place, 

Where  thou,  assisted  by  thy  chosen  friends, 
My  son,  must  bear  the  body  of  Alcides ; 
There  shalt  thou  cut  thee  many  a  leafy  branch 
From  the  wild  olive  and  deep-rooted  oak, 
Then  cast  me  on  it,  take  thy  torch,  and  light 
My  funeral  pile  ;  without  one  tear  or  groan 
Unmanly  do  it,  if  thou  art  my  son  ; 
For  if  thou  failst,  remember,  after  death 
A  father's  curses  will  sit  heavy  on  thee. 

Hyl.  Alas  !  my  father,  what  hast  thou  commanded  % 
What  hast  thou  bade  me  do  % 

Her.  What  must  be  done. 

Or  thou  art  not  the  son  of  Hercules. 

Hyl.  a  dreadful  deed  !     And  must  I  then  become 
A  parricide,  and  murder  thee  ? 

Her.  Oh,  no ! 

My  kind  physician,  balm  of  all  my  woes. 

Hyl.  Myself  to  cast  thee  in  the  flames  !     Is  that 
An  office  fit  for  me  ? 

Her.  If  that  alone 

Seem  dreadful  to  thee,  yet  perform  the  rest. 

Hyl.  I'll  bear  thee  thither. 

Her.  Wilt  thou  raise  the  pile  ? 

Hyl.  I  will  do  anything  but  be  myself 
Thy  executioner. 

He;r.  'Tis  well,  my  son ; 

But  one  thing  more,  and  I  am  satisfied ; 
'Tis  but  a  little. 

Hyl.  Be  it  e'er  so  gi'eat, 

I  shall  obey. 

Her.  Thou  knowst  the  virgin  daughter 

Of  Eurytus. 

Hyl.  lole  % 

Her.  Her,  my  son  ; 

Eemember,  'tis  a  father's  last  command, 
And  thou  hast  sworn  obedience.     That  lole 
I  do  bequeath  thee  ;  take  her  to  thy  arms 
When  I  am  dead,  and  let  her  be  thy  wife  : 
It  is  not  fitting  she  who  lay  by  th'  side 
Of  Hercules  to  any  but  the  son 


TRACHINI/E.  2T7 

Of  Hercules  should  e'er  descend ;  to  thee 
Alone  I  yield  her.     Speak  not,  but  obey  me ; 
After  thy  kind  compliance,  to  refuse 
So  slight  a  favour  were  to  cancel  all. 

Hyl.  \ciside\.  Alas  !  distempered  as  he  is,  to  chide 
him 
Were  most  unkind ;  and  yet,  what  madness  this  ! 

Her.  Thou  wilt  not  do  it  then? 

Hyl.  What !  marry  her 

Who  slew  my  mother !  her,  who  hath  brought  thee 
To  this  sad  state  !  It  were  an  act  of  frenzy  : 
Death  be  my  portion  rather  than  to  live 
With  those  I  hate. 

Her.  \tuming  to  the  Chorus].  He  will  not  pay  me 
then 
The  duty  which  he  owes  a  dying  father  ! 
But  if  thou  dost  not,  curses  from  the  gods 
Await  thee. 

Hyl.  Oh  !  thou  rav'st ;  it  is  the  rage 

Of  thy  distemper  makes  thee  talk  so  wildly. 

Her.  Thou  hast  awakened  all  my  woes ;  again 
They  torture  now. 

Hyl.  Alas  !  what  doubts  arise, 

What  fears  perplex  me  ! 

Her.  Meanst  thou  to  dispute 

A  father's  will  ? 

Hyl.  Must  I  then  learn  of  thee 

To  do  a  wicked  deed  ? 

Her.  It  is  not  wicked 

If  I  request  it  of  thee. 

Hyl.  Is  it  just? 

Her.  It  is ;  the  gods  are  witnesses  'tis  just. 

Hyl.  Then  by  those  gods  I  swear  I  will  perform 
What  thou  commandst :  I  never  can  be  deemed 
Or  base,  or  impious,  for  obeying  thee. 

Her.  'Tis  well,  my  son ;  one  added  kindness  more, 
And  I  am  satisfied  :  before  the  racks 
Of  dire  convulsion,  and  the  pangs  of  madness 
Again  attack  me,  throw  me  on  the  pile. 
Haste  then,  and  bear  me  to  it,  there  at  last 
I  shall  have  peace  and  rest  from  all  my  sorrows 


TRACHINIAl. 


Hyl.  Since  'tis  thy  will,  my  fatlier,  we  Rubmit. 

Her.  Now,  ere  the  dreadful  malady  return, 
Be  firm,  my  soul,  e'en  as  the  hardened  steel; 
Suspend  thy  ciies,  and  meet  the  fatal  blow 
With  joy  and  pleasure  ;  bear  me  hence,  my  fnends, 
For  you  have  shown  yourselves  my  friends  indeed, 
And  prove  the  base  ingratitude  of  those 
From  whom  I  sprang,  the  cruel  gods,  who  saw 
Unmoved  the  woes  of  their  unhappy  son. 
'Tis  not  in  mortal  to  foresee  his  fate ; 
Mine  is  to  them  disgraceful,  and  to  me 
Most  terrible — to  me  of  all  mankind 
The  most  distressed,  the  poor,  the  lost  Alcides. 

Chor.  lole,  come  not  forth,  unhappy  virgin, 
Already  hast  thou  seen  enough  of  woe, 
And  yet  fresh  sorrows  wait  thee  ;  but  remember, 
All  is  decreed,  and  all  the  work  of  Jove. 


QE Dipus    Tyrannus. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONtE. 


CEdipus,  King  of  Thebes. 
JoCASTA,  Wife  of  CEdipus. 
Creon,  Brother  to  Jocasta. 
TiKESiAS,  a  Blind  Prophet  of 
^     Thebes. 

A  Shepherd,  from  Corinth. 
A  Messenger. 


■^  An  Old  Shepherd,/o»  wcr^y 

I         belonging  to  Laius. 

I  i  High  Priest  of  Jupiter. 
Chorus,  composed  of  the  Priests 
and  Ancient  Men  of  Thebes, 
Theban    Youths,    Childrai   of 
CEdipus,  Attendants,  d;c. 


SCENE.— Thebes,  before  the  Palace  of  CEdipus. 


ACT    I. 


Scene    1. 

CEdipus,  High  Priest  of  Jupiter. 

CEdipus.  0  my  loved  sons !  the  youthful  progeny 
Of  ancient  Cadmus,  wherefore  sit  you  here 
And  suppliant  thus,  with  sacred  boughs  adorned, 
Crowd  to  our  altars  1    Frequent  sacrifice 
And  prayers  and  sighs  and  sorrows  fill  the  land. 
I  could  have  sent  to  learn  the  fatal  cause ; 
But  see,  your  anxious  sovereign  comes  himself 
To  know  it  all  from  you  ;  behold  your  king, 
Kenowned  CEdipus ;  do  thou,  old  man, 


r 

L 


(EDI PUS  TYRANNUS. 


For  best  that  office  suits  thy  years,  inform  me, 
Why  you  are  come  ;  is  it  the  present  ill 
That  calls  you  here,  or  dread  of  future  woe  ? 
Hard  were  indeed  the  heart  that  did  not  feel 
For  giief  like  yours,  and  pity  such  distress  : 
If  there  be  aught  that  (Edipus  can  do 
To  serve  his  people,  know  me  for  your  friend. 

PitiEST.  0  king  !  thou  seest  what  numbers  throng  thy 
altars  ; 
Here,  bending  sad  beneath  the  weight  of  years, 
The  hoary  priests,  here  crowd  the  chosen  youth 
Of  Thebes,  with  these  a  weak  and  suppliant  train 
Of  helpless  infants,  last  in  me  behold 
The  minister  of  J  ove  :  far  oft"  thou  seest 
Assembled  multitudes,  with  laurel  crowned, 
To  where  Minerva's  hallowed  temples  rise 
Frequent  repair,  or  wheie  Ismenus  laves 
Apollo's  sacred  shrine  :  too  well  thou  knowst 
Thy  wi-etched  Thebes,  with  dreadful  storms  oppressed, 
Scarce  lifts  her  head  above  the  whelming  flood ; 
The  teeming  earth  her  blasted  harvest  mourns, 
And  on  the  barren  plain  the  flocks  and  herds 
Unnumbered  perish  ;  dire  abortion  thwarts 
The  mother's  hopes,  and  painful  she  brings  forth 
The  half-formed  infant ;  baleful  pestilence 
Hath  laid  our  city  waste,  the  fiery  god 
Stalks  o'er  deserted  Thebes ;  whilst  with  our  groans 
Enriched,  the  gloomy  god  of  Erebus 
Triumphant  smiles.     O  (Edipus  !  to  thee 
We  bend ;  behold  these  youths,  with  me  they  kneel, 
And  suppliant  at  thy  altars  sue  for  aid, 
To  thee  the  first  of  men,  and  only  less 
Than  them  whose  favour  thou  alone  canst  gain, 
The  gods  above ;  thy  wisdom  yet  may  heal 
The  deep-felt  wounds,  and  make  the  powers  divine 
Propitious  to  us.     Thebes  long  since  to  thee 
Her  safety  owed,  when  from  the  Sphynx  delivered 
Thy  gi-ateful  people  saw  thee,  not  by  man 
But  by  the  gods  instructed,  save  the  land  : 
Now  then,  thou  best  of  kings,  assist  us  now. 
Oh !  by  some  mortal  or  immortal  aid 


(EDIPUS  TYRANNUS.  221 


F 

■  Now  succour  the  distress !     On  wisdom  oft, 
P  And  prudent  counsels  in  the  hour  of  ill, 
Success  awaits.     0  dearest  prince  !  support, 
Relieve  thy  Thebes;  on  thee,  its  saviour  once. 
Again  its  ."•alls.     Now,  if  thou  wouldst  not  see 
The  mem'ry  perish  of  thy  former  deeds, 
Let  it  not  call  in  vain,  but  rise,  and  save ! 
With  happiest  omens  once  and  fair  succeso 
We  saw  thee  crowned  :  oh  !  be  thyself  again, 
And  may  thy  will  and  fortune  be  the  same ! 
If  thou  art  yet  to  reign,  O  king !  remember 
A  sovereign's  riches  is  a  peopled  realm ; 
For  what  will  ships  or  lofty  towers  avail 
Unarmed  with  men  to  guard  and  to  defend  them  ? 

CEdi.  0  my  unhappy  sons  !  too  well  I  know 
Your  sad  estate.     I  know  the  woes  of  Thebes ; 
And  yet  amongst  you  lives  not  such  a  wretch 
As  (Edipus ;  for  oh  !  on  me,  my  children. 
Your  sorrows  press.     Alas  !  I  feel  for  you 
My  people,  for  myself,  for  Thebes,  for  all ! 
Think  not  I  slept  regardless  of  your  ills  ; 
Oh  no  !  with  many  a  tear  I  wept  your  fate. 
And  oft  in  meditation  deep  revolved 
How  best  your  peace  and  safety  to  restore  : 
The  only  medicine  that  my  thoughts  could  find 
I  have  administered  :  Menteceus'  son. 
The  noble  Creon,  went  by  my  command 
To  Delphos  from  Apollo's  shrine,  to  know 
What  must  be  done  to  save  this  wretched  land  t 
'Tis  time  he  were  returned  :  I  wonder  much 
At  his  delay.     If,  when  he  comes,  your  king 
Perform  not  all  the  god  enjoins,  then  say 
He  is  the  worst  of  men. 

Priest.  O  king  !  thy  words 

;  Are  gracious,  and  if  right  these  youths  inform 
me, 
Creon  is  here. 

CEdi.  0  Phoebus  !  grant  he  come 

With  tidings  cheerful  as  the  smile  he  wears ! 

Priest.  He  is  the  messenger  of  good  ;  for  see, 
His  brows  are  crowned  with  laurel. 


I 


(EDTPUS  TYRANNUS, 


(Ei.i. 
Be  satisfied 


We  shall  soon 


he  comes. 


Scene  II. 
Creon,  (Edipus,  Priest,  Chorus. 


QEdi.  My  dearest  Creon, 

Oh !  say,  what  answer  bearst  thou  from  the  god  : 
Or  good,  or  ill  ? 

Creon.  Good,  very  good ;  for  know, 

The  worst  of  ills,  if  rightly  used,  may  prove 
The  means  of  happiness. 

CEdi.  What  says  my  friend  ? 

This  answer  gives  me  nought  to  hope  oi'  fear. 

Creon.  Shall  we  retire,  or  would  you  that  I  speak 
In  public  here  ? 

(Edi.  Before  them  all  declare  it ; 

Theii'  woes  sit  heavier  on  me  than  my  own, 

Creon.  Then  mark  what  I  have  heard  :  the  god 
commands 
That  instant  we  drive  forth  the  fatal  cause 
Of  this  dire  pestilence,  nor  nourish  here 
The  accursed  monster. 

(Edi.  Who?    What  monster?     How 

Kemove  it  ? 

Creon.         Or  by  banishment,  or  death. 
Life  must  be  given  for  life ;  for  yet  his  blood 
Rests  on  the  city. 

CEdi.  Whose  ?     What  means  the  god  ? 

Creon.  O  king !  before  thee  Laius  ruled  o'er  Thebes. 

(Edi.  I  know  he  did,  though  I  did  ne'er  behold  him. 

Creon.  Laius  was  slain,  and  on  his  murderers, 
So  Phoebus  says,  we  must  have  vengeance. 

(Edi.  Where, 

Where  are  the  murderers  ?     Who  shall  trace  the  guilt 
]5uried  so  long  in  silence  ? 

Creon.  Here,  he  said. 

E'en  in  this  land,  what's  sought  for  may  be  found, 
But  truth  unsearched  for  seldom  comes  to  hght. 


(EDTPUS  TYRANNUS.  223 

CEdi.  How  did  he  fall,  and  where  ? — at  home, 
abroad  1 
Died  he  at  Thebes,  or  in  a  foreign  land  ? 

Creon.  He  left  his  palace,  fame  reports,  to  seek 
Some  oracle ;  since  that,  we  ne'er  beheld  him. 

G]di.  But  did  no  messenger  return  ?     Not  one 
Of  all  his  train,  of  whom  we  might  inquire 
Touching  this  murder  ? 

Creon.  One,  and  one  alone, 

Came  back,  who,  flying,  'scaped  th^  general  slaughter. 
But  nothing  save  one  little  circumstance 
Or  knew,  or  e'er  related. 

CEdi.  What  was  that  ? 

Much  may  be  learned  from  that.     A  little  dawn 
Of  light  appearing  may  discover  all. 

Creon.  Laius,  attacked  by  robbers,  and  oppressed 
By  numbers,  fell.     Such  is  his  tale. 

CEdi.  Would  they— 

Would  robbers  do  so  desperate  a  deed, 
Unbribed  and  unassisted  ? 

Creon.  So,  indeed. 

Suspicion  whispered  then.     But — Laius  dead — 
No  friend  was  found  to  vindicate  the  wrong. 

Q^Di.  But  what  strange  cause  could  stop  inquiry 
thus 
Into  the  murder  of  a  king  ? 

Creon.  The  Sphynx. 

Her  dire  enigma  kept  our  thoughts  intent 
On  present  ills,  nor  gave  us  time  to  search 
The  past  mysterious  deed. 

(Edi.       '  Myself  will  try 

Soon  to  unveil  it.     Thou,  Apollo,  well, 
And  well  hast  thou,  my  Creon,  lent  thy  aid. 
Your  QEdipus  shall  now  perform  his  part. 
Yes,  I  will  fight  for  Phoebus  and  my  country. 
And  so  I  ought.     For  not  to  friends  alone, 
Or  kindred,  owe  I  this,  but  to  myself. 
Who  murdered  him,  perchance  would  murder  me  I 
His  cause  is  mine.     Wherefore,  my  children,  rise; 
Take  hence  your  suppliant  boughs,  and  summon  here 
The  race  of  Cadmus — my  assembled  people. 


^^^^^H      (EDIPUS  TYRANNUS.  ^H 

Nought  shall  be  left  untried.    Apollo  leads,  9 

■7  And  we  shall  rise  to  joy,  or  sink  for  ever. 

Priest,  llaste,  then,  my  sons,  for  this  we  hither 
came  : 
About  it  quick,  and  may  the  god  who  sent 
This  oracle,  protect,  defend,  and  save  us  !  \Excio^*, 

Chorus. 

'  Strophe  i. 

O  thou  great  oracle  divine  ! 
Who  didst  to  happy  Thebes  remove 

From  Delphi's  golden  shrine. 
And  in  sweet  sounds  declare  the  will  of  Jove. 

Daughter  of  hope,  oh  !  soothe  my  soul  to  rest, 

And  calm  the  rising  tumult  in  my  breast. 
Look  down,  0  Phoebus !  on  thy  loved  abode. 

Speak,  for  thou  knowst  the  dark  decrees  of  fate, 

Our  present  and  our  future  state. 
0  Delian  !  be  thou  still  our  healing  god  ? 

Antistrojihe  i. 

Minerva,  first  on  thee  I  call. 
Daughter  of  Jove,  immortal  maid, 

Low  beneath  thy  feet  we  fall : 
Oh  !  bring  thy  sister  Dian  to  our  aid. 

Goddess  of  Thebes,  from  thy  imperial  throne 

Look  with  an  eye  of  gentle  pity  down ; 
And  thou,  far-shooting  Phoebus,  once  the  friend 

Of  this  unhappy,  this  devoted  land. 

Oh  !  now,  if  ever,  let  thy  hand 
Once  more  be  stretched  to  save  and  to  defend ! 

StropJie  2. 

Great  Thel>es,  my  sons,  is  now  no  more ; 
She  falls  and  ne'er  again  shall  rise, 

Nought  can  her  health  or  strength  restore, 
Tlie  mighty  nation  sinks,  she  droops,  she  dies. 


CEDIPUS  TYJ^ANNCJS. 

Stripped  of  her  fruits,  behold  the  barren  earth — 

The  half-formed  infant  struggles  for  a  birth. 
The  mother  sinks  unequal  to  her  pain  : 

Whilst  quick  as  birds  in  airy  circles  fly, 

Or  lightnings  from  an  angry  sky, 
Crowds  press  on  crowds  to  Pluto's  dark  domain. 

Antistroplie  2. 

Behold  what  heaps  of  wretches  slain, 

Unburied,  unlamented  lie, 

Nor  parents  now^  nor  friends  remain 

To  grace  their  deaths  with  pious  obsequy. 
The  aged  matron  and  the  blooming  wife, 
Cling  to  the  altars — sue  for  added  life. 

With  sighs  and  groans  united  Pseans  rise ; 
Re-echoed,  still  doth  great  Apollo's  name 
Their  sorrows  and  their  wants  proclaim. 

Frequent  to  him  ascends  the  sacrifice. 

Stroiihe  3. 

Haste  then,  Minerva,  beauteous  maid, 
Descend  in  this  afflictive  hour. 

Haste  to  thy  dying  people's  aid. 
Drive  hence  this  baneful,  this  destructive  power ! 

Who  comes  not  armed  with  hostile  sword  or  shield. 

Yet  strews  with  many  a  corse  th'  ensanguined  field; 
To  Amphitrite's  wide  extending  bed 

Oh  !  drive  him,  goddess,  from  thy  favourite  land, 

Or  let  him,  by  thy  dread  command, 
Bury  in  Thracian  waves  his  ignominious  head, 

Antistrophe  3. 

Father  of  all,  immortal  Jove  ! 
Oh  !  now  thy  fiery  terrors  send  ; 

From  thy  dreadful  stores  above 
Let  lightnings  blast  him  and  let  thunder*?  rend 

And  thou,  0  Lydian  king  !  thy  a'd  impart ; 

Send  from  thy  golden  bow,  th'  unerring  dart  ; 


225 


(EDI PUS  TYRA^XUS. 

Bmile,  chaste  Diana,  on  this  loved  abode, 

Whilst  Theban  Bacchus  joins  the  maddening  throng. 

O  god  of  wine  and  mirth  and  song ! 
Now  with  thy  torch  destroy  the  base  inglorious  god. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   II. 


Scene    I. 


CEdipus,  Chorus.     The  Peo2)le  assembled, 

CEdi.  Your  prayers  are  heard  :  and  if  you  will  obey 
Your  king,  and  hearken  to  his  words,  you  soon 
Shall  find  relief ;  myself  will  heal  your  woes. 
I  was  a  stranger  to  the  dreadful  deed, 
A  stranger  e'en  to  the  report  till  now ; 
And  yet  without  some  traces  of  the  crime 
I  should  not  urge  this  matter ;  therefore  hear  me. 
I  speak  to  all  the  citizens  of  Thebes, 
Myself  a  citizen — observe  me  Avell : 
If  any  know  the  murderer  of  Laius, 
Let  him  reveal  it ;  I  command  you  all. 
But  if  restrained  by  dread  of  punishment 
He  hide  the  secret,  let  him  fear  no  more ; 
For  nought  but  exile  shall  attend  the  crime 
Whene'er  confessed  ;  if  by  a  foreign  hand 
The  horrid  deed  was  done,  who  points  him  out 
Commands  our  thanks,  and  meets  a  sure  reward ; 
But  if  there  be  who  knows  the  murderer, 
And  yet  conceals  him  from  us,  mark  his  fate. 
Which  here  I  do  pronounce :    Let  none  receive 
Throughout  my  kingdom,  none  hold  converse  with  him, 
Nor  offer  prayer,  nor  sprinkle  o'er  his  head 
The  sacred  cup  ;  let  him  be  driven  from  all, 
By  all  abandoned,  and  by  all  accursed, 
For  so  the  Delphic  oracle  declared ; 


(EDIPUS  TYRANNUS,  227 

And  therefore  to  the  gods  I  pay  this  duty 

And  to  the  dead.     Oh  !  may  the  guilty  wretch, 

Whether  alone,  or  by  his  impious  friends 

Assisted,  he  performed  the  horrid  deed, 

Denied  the  common  benefits  of  nature, 

Wear  out  a  painful  life  !     And  oh  !  if  here, 

Within  my  palace,  I  conceal  the  traitoi-, 

On  me  and  mine  alight  the  vengeful  curse  ! 

To  you,  my  people,  I  commit  the  care 

Of  this  important  business  ;  'tis  my  cause. 

The  cause  of  Heaven,  and  your  expii'ing  country. 

E'en  if  the  god  had  nought  declared,  to  leave 

This  crime  unexpiated  were  most  ungrateful. 

He  was  the  best  of  kings,  the  best  of  men ; 

That  sceptre  now  is  mine  which  Laius  boie ; 

His  wife  is  mine ;  so  would  his  children  be 

Did  any  live  ;  and  therefore  am  I  bound. 

E'en  as  he  were  my  father,  to  revenge  him. 

Yes,  I  will  try  to  find  this  murderer, 

I  owe  it  to  the  son  of  Labdacus, 

To  Polydorus,  Cadmus,  and  the  race 

If  great  Agenor.     Oh  !  if  yet  there  are, 

Who  will  not  join  me  in  the  pious  deed. 

From  such  may  earth  withhold  her  annual  store, 

And  barren  be  their  bed,  their  life  most  wretched,. 

And  their  death  cruel  as  the  pestilence 

That  wastes  our  city  !     But  on  you,  my  Thebans, 

Who  wish  us  fair  success,  may  justice  smile 

Propitious,  and  the  gods  for  ever  bless ! 

Chor.  0  king  !  thy  imprecations  unappalled 
I  hear,  and  join  thee,  guiltless  of  the  crime. 
Nor  knowing  who  committed  it.     The  god 
Alone,  who  gave  the  oracle,  must  clear 
Its  doubtful  sense,  and  point  out  the  offender. 

(Edi.  'Tis  true.     But  who  shall  force  the  powers 
divine 
To  speak  their  hidden  purpose  % 

Chor.  One  thing  more, 

If  I  might  speak. 

(Edi.  Say  on,  whate'er  thy  mind 

Shall  dictate  to  thee. 


CEDIPUS  TVRANNUS. 

Chor.  As  amongst  the  gods 

All-knowing  Phabus,  so  to  mortal  men 
Doth  sage  Tiresias  in  foreknowledge  sure 
Shine  forth  pre-eminent.     Perchance  his  aid 
Might  much  avail  us. 

CEdi.  Creon  did  suggest 

The  same  expedient,  and  by  his  advice 
Twice  have  I  sent  for  tliis  Tiresias ;  much 
I  wonder  that  he  comes  not. 

Choii.  'Tis  most  fitting 

We  do  consult  him  ;  for  the  idle  tales 
Which  rumour  spreads  are  not  to  be  regarded. 

CEdi.  What  are  those  tales  %  for  nought  should  we 
despise. 

Chor.  'Tis  said  some  travellers  did  attack  the  king 

QEdi.  It  is;  but  still  no  proof  appears. 

Chor.  And  yet, 

If  it  be  so,  thy  dreadful  execration 
Will  force  the  guilty  to  confess. 

(Edi.  Oh  no ! 

Who  fears  not  to  commit  the  crime  will  ne'er 
Be  frightened  at  the  curse  that  follows  it. 

Chor.  Behold  he  comes,  who  will  discover  all. 
The  holy  prophet.     See  !  they  lead  him  hither ; 
He  knows  the  truth  and  will  reveal  it  to  us. 


Scene  II. 

Tiresias,  (Edipus,  Chorus. 

CKdi.  0  sage  Tiresias,  thou  who  knowest  all 
That  can  be  known,  the  things  of  heaven  above 
And  earth  below,  whose  mental  eye  beholds, 
BUnd  as  thou  art,  the  state  of  dying  Thebes, 
And  weeps  her  fate,  to  thee  we  look  for  aid, 
On  thee  alone  for  safety  we  depend. 
This  answer,  which  perchance  thou  hast  not  heard, 
Apollo  gave :  the  plague,  he  said,  should  cease 
When  those  who  murdered  Laius  w^ere  discovered 
And  paid  the  forfeit  of  their  crime  by  death 


(EDIPUS  TYRANNVS.  229 

Or  banishment.     Oh  !  do  not  then  conceal 
Aught  that  thy  art  prophetic  from  the  flight 
Of  birds  or  other  omens  may  disclose. 
Oh !  save  thyself,  save  this  afflicted  city, 
Save  CEdipus,  avenge  the  guiltless  dead 
From  this  pollution  !     Thou  art  all  our  hope ; 
Remember,  'tis  the  privilege  of  man, 
His  noblest  function,  to  assist  the  wretched. 

TiR.  Alas  !  what  misery  it  is  to  know 
When  knowledge  is  thus  fatal !     O  Tiresias  ! 
Thou  art  undone  !     Would  I  had  never  come  ! 

CEdi.  What  sayst  thou  ?    Whence  this  strange 
dejection  ?     Speak. 

Till.  Let  me  be  gone  ;  'twere  better  for  us  both 
That  I  retire  in  silence  :  be  advised. 

0]di.  It  is  ingratitude  to  Tiiebes,  who  bore 
And  cherished  thee — ^^it  is  unjust  to  all, 
To  hide  the  will  of  heaven. 

TiR.  'Tis  rash  in  thee 

To  ask,  and  rash  I  fear  will  prove  my  answer. 

Chor.  Oh !  do  not,  by  the  gods,  conceal  it  from  us, 
Suppliant  we  all  request,  we  all  conjure  thee. 

TiR.  You  know  not  what  you  ask  ;  I'll  not  unveil 
Your  miseries  to  you. 

CEdi.  Knowst  thou  then  our  fate, 

And  wilt  not  tell  it  %     Meanst  thou  to  betray 
Thy  country  and  thy  king  ? 

TiR.  I  would  not  make 

Myself  and  thee  unhappy ;  why  thus  blame 
My  tender  care,  nor  listen  to  my  caution  % 

CEdi.  Wretch  as  thou  art,  thou  wouldst  provoke  a 
stone —  ■ 

Inflexible  and  cruel — still  implored 
And  still  refusing. 

TiR.  Thou  condemn'st  my  warmth, 

Forgetful  of  thy  own. 

CEdi.  Who  would  not  rage 

To  see  an  injured  people  ti-eated  thus 
With  vile  contempt  ? 

TiR.  What  is  decreed  by  heaven 

Must  come  to  pa,ss,  though  I  reveal  it  not. 


aCDlPUS  TVRANNUS. 


i^m.  Still,  'tis  thy  duty  to  inform  us  of  it.  ■ 

Till.  I'll  speak  no  more,  not  though  thine  luigor        ^ 
swell 
E'en  to  its  utmost. 

CEdi.  Nor  will  I  be  silent. 

1  tell  thee  once  for  all  thou  wert  thyself 
Accomplice  in  thi.s  deed.     Nay,  more,  1  think, 
But  for  thy  blindness,  wouldst  with  thy  own  hand 
Have  done  it  too. 

TiR.  'Tis  well.     Now  hear,  Tiresius. 

The  sentence,  which  thou  didst  thyself  proclaim, 
Falls  on  thyself.     Henceforth  shall  never  man 
Hold  converse  with  thee,  for  thou  art  accursed — 
The  guilty  cause  of  all  this  city's  woes. 

CEdi.  Audacious  traitor  !  thinkst  thou  to  escape 
The  hand  of  vengeance  ? 

TiR.  Yes,  I  fear  thee  not ; 

For  truth  is  stronger  than  a  tyi-ant's  ai-m. 

CEdi.  Whence  didst  thou  learn  this  ?     Was  it  from 
thy  art? 

TiR.  I  learned  it  from  thyself.     Thou  didst  compel 
me 
To  speak,  unwilHng  as  I  was. 

CEdi.  Once  more 

Ilepeat  it  then,  that  I  may  know  my  fate 
More  plainly  still. 

TiR.  Is  it  not  plain  already  ? 

Or  meanst  thou  but  to  tempt  me  ? 

CEdi.  No,  but  say, 

©'peak  it  again. 

TiR.  Again  then  I  declare 

Thou  art  thyself  the  murderer  whom  thou  seekst. 

CEdi.  A  second  time  thou  shalt  not  pass  unpunished. 

TiR.  What  wouldst  thou  say,  if  I  should  tell  thee  all  % 

(Edi.  Say  what  thou  wilt.     For  all  is  false. 

TiR.  Know  then, 

That  CEdipus,  in  shameful  bonds  united 
With  those  he  loves,  unconscious  of  his  guilt, 
Is  yet  most  guilty. 

CEdi.  Dar'st  thou  utter  mwe, 

And  hope  for  pardon  % 


CEDIPUS  TYRANNUS.  231 

Tie.  Yes,  if  there  be  strength 

In  sacred  truth. 

CEdi.  But  truth  dwells  not  in  thee  : 

Thy  body  and  thy  mind  are  dark  alike, 
For  both  are  blind.     Thy  ev'ry  sense  is  lost. 

TiR.  Thou  dost  upbraid  me  with  the  loss  of  that 
For  which  thyself  ere  long  shall  meet  reproach 
From  every  tongue. 

CEdi.  Thou  blind  and  impious  traitor  ! 

Thy  darkness  is  thy  safeguard,  or  this  hour 
Had  been  thy  last. 

Tie.  It  is  not  in  my  fate 

To  fall  by  thee.     Apollo  guards  his  priest. 

(Edi.  Was  this  the  tale  of  Creon,  or  thy  own  % 

Tie.  Creon  is  guiltless,  and  the  crime  is  thine. 

(Edi.  0  riches,  power,  dominion  !  and  thou  far 
Above  them  all,  the  best  of  human  blessings, 
Excelling  wisdom,  how  doth  envy  love 
To  follow  and  oppress  you  !     This  fair  kingdom, 
Which  by  the  nation's  choice,  and  not  my  own, 
I  here  possess,  Creon,  my  faithful  friend. 
For  such  I  thought  him  once,  would  now  wrest  from  me. 
And  hath  suborned  this  vile  impostor  here. 
This  wandering  hypocrite,  of  sharpest  sight 
When  interest  prompts,  but  ignorant  and  blind 
When  fools  consult  him.     Tell  me,  prophet,  where 
Was  all  thy  art  when  the  abhorred  Sphynx 
Alarmed  our  city  1     Wherefore  did  not  then 
Thy  wisdom  save  us?     Then  the  man  divine 
Was  wanting.     But  thy  birds  refused  their  omens, 
Thy  god  was  silent.     Then  came  (Edipus, 
This  poor,  unlearned,  uninstructed  sage ; 
Who  not  from  birds  uncertain  omens  drew, 
But  by  his  own  sagacious  mind  explored 
The  hidden  mystery.     And  now  thou  com'st 
To  cast  me  from  the  throne  my  wisdom  gained, 
And  share  with  Creon  my  divided  empire. 
But  you  should  both  lament  your  ill-got  power, 
You  and  your  bold  compeer.     For  thee,  this  moment. 
But  that  I  bear  respect  unto  thy  age, 
I'd  make  thee  rue  thy  execrable  purpose. 


CEDIPUS  TYRANNUS. 


CiiOR.  You  both  are  angry,  tlierefore  both  to  blame  ; 
Much  rather  should  you  join,  witli  friendly  zeal 
And  mutual  ardour,  to  explore  the  will 
Of  all-deciding  Heaven. 

Till.  What  though  thou  lul'st 

O'er  Thebes  despotic,  we  are  equal  here  : 
I  am  Apollo's  subj(>ct,  and  not  thine, 
I^or  w'Awi  J  C^-eon  to  protect  me.     No ; 
I  tell  thee,  king,  this  blind  Tiresias  tells  thee, 
Seeing  thou  seest  not,  knowst  not  where  thou  art, 
What,  or  with  whom.     Canst  thou  inform  me  who 
Thy  parents  are,  and  what  thy  horrid  crimes 
'Gainst  thy  own  race,  the  living  and  the  dead  ? 
A  father's  and  a  mother's  curse  attend  thee  ; 
Soon  shall  their  furies  drive  thee  from  the  land, 
And  leave  thee  dark  like  me.     Whnt  mountain  then, 
Or  conscious  shore,  shall  not  return  the  groans 
Of  Ql^dipus,  and  echo  to  his  woes  ? 
When  thou  shalt  look  on  the  detested  bed, 
And  in  that  haven  where  thou  hop'st  to  rest, 
Shalt  meet  with  storm  and  tempest,  then  what  ills 
Shall  fall  on  thee  and  thine  !     Now  vent  thy  rage 
On  old  Tiresias  and  the  guiltless  Creon  ; 
We  shall  be  soon  avenged,  for  ne'er  did  Heaven 
Cut  off  a  wTetch  so  base,  so  vile  as  thou  art. 

CEdi.  Must  I  bear  this  from  thee  ?     Away,  begone ! 
Home,  villain,  home ! 

TiR.  I  did  not  come  to  thee 

Unsent  for. 

CEdi.  Had  I  thought  thou  wouldst  have  thus 
Insulted  me,  I  had  not  called  thee  hither. 

TiR.  Perhaps  thou  holdst  I'iresias  as  a  fool 
And  madman ;  but  th/  parents  thought  me  wise. 

(Edj.  My  parents,  saidst  thou  ?     Speak,  who  were  my 
parents  ? 

TiR.  This  day,  that  gives  thee  life,  shall  give  thee 
death. 

CEdi.  Still  dark,  and  still  perplexing  are  the  words 
Thou  utter'st. 

TiR.  'Tis  thy  business  to  unriddle, 
And  therefore  thou  canst  best  interpret  them. 


CEDIPUS  TYRANNUS.  233 

CEdi.  Thou  dost  reproach  me  for  my  virtues. 

TiR.  They, 

And  thy  good  fortune,  have  undone  thee. 

(Edi.  Since 

I  saved  the  city,  I'm  content. 

TiR.  Farewell. 

Boy,  lead  me  hence. 

CEdi.  Away  with  him,  for  here 
His  presence  but  disturbs  us ;  being  gone, 
We  shall  be  happier. 

TiR.  (Edipus,  I  go. 

But  first  inform  me,  for  I  fear  thee  not, 
Wherefore  I  came.     Know  then,  I  came  to  tell  thee, 
The  man  thou  seekst,  the  man  on  whom  thou  pouredst 
Thy  execrations,  e'en  the  murderer 
Of  Laius,  now  is  here — a  seeming  stranger 
And  yet  a  Theban.     He  shall  suffer  soon 
For  all  his  crimes  ;  from  light  and  affluence  driven 
To  penury  and  darkness,  poor  and  blind. 
Propped  on  his  staff,  and  from  his  native  land 
Expelled,  I  see  him  in  a  foreign  clime 
A  helpless  wanderer ;  to  his  sons  at  once 
A  father  and  a  brother ;  child  and  husband 
Of  her  from  whom  he  sprang.     Adulterous, 
Incestuous  parricide,  now  fare  thee  well ! 
Go,  learn  the  truth,  and  if  it  be  not  so. 
Say  I  have  ne'er  deserved  the  name  of  prophet. 

Chorus. 

Strophe  I. 

When  will  the  guilty  wretch  appear. 
Whom  Delphi's  sacred  oracle  demands  ; 

Author  of  crimes  too  black  for  mortal  ear, 
Dipping  in  royal  blood  his  sacrilegious  hands'? 
Swift  as  the  storm  by  rapid  whirlwinds  driven ; 
Quick  let  him  fly  th'  impending  wrath  of  Heaven ; 

For  lo  !  the  angry  son  of  Jove, 

Armed  with  red  lightnings  from  above. 
Pursues  the  murderer  with  immortal  hate, 
And  round  him  spreads  the  snares  of  unrelenting  fate. 


234 


CEDIPUS  TYR ANNUS. 


Antistrophe  i. 

From  steep  Parnassus'  rocky  cave, 
Covered  with  snow,  came  forth  tlie  di-ead  command ; 

Apollo  thence  his  sacred  mandate  gave, 
To  search  the  man  of  blood  through  every  land  : 
Silent  and  sad,  the  weary  wanderer  roves 
O'er  pathless  rocks  and  solitary  groves, 

Hoping  to  'scape  the  wrath  divine. 

Denounced  from  great  Apollo's  shrine  ; 
Vain  hopes  to  'scape  the  fate  by  Heaven  decreed. 
For  vengeance  hovers  still  o'er  his  devoted  head. 

Strojyhe  2. 

Tiresias,  famed  for  wisdom's  lore. 
Hath  dreadful  ills  to  CEdipus  divined ; 

And  as  his  words  mysterious  I  explore. 
Unnumbered  doubts  perplex  my  anxious  mind. 
Now  raised  by  hope,  and  now  with  fears  oppressed, 
Sorrow  and  joy  alternate  till  my  breast : 

How  should  these  hapless  kings  be  foes. 

When  never  strife  between  them  rose  ? 
Or  why  should  Laius,  slain  by  hands  unknown. 
Bring  foul  disgrace  on  Polybus'  unhappy  son  ? 


Antistro2)he  2. 

From  Phoebus  and  all-seeing  Jove 
Nought  can  be  hid  of  actions  here  below ; 

But  earthly  prophets  may  deceitful  prove. 
And  little  more  than  other  mortals  know : 
'riiough  much  in  wisdom  man  doth  man  excel. 
In  all  that 's  human  error  still  must  dwell : 

Could  he  commit  the  bloody  deed. 

Who  from  the  Sphinx  our  city  freed? 
Ob,  no  !  he  never  shed  the  guiltless  blood  ; 
The  Sphynx  declares  him  wise,  and  innocent^  and  good. 


CEDTPUS  TYRANNUS.  235 

ACT    III. 

Scene  I. 
Ckeon,  Otiorus 

Creon.  0  citizens  !  with  grief  T  hear  your  king 
Hath  blasted  the  fair  fame  of  guiltless  Creon ! 
And  most  unjustly  brands  me  with  a  crime 
My  soul  abhors  :  whilst  desolation  spreads 
On  every  side,  and  universal  ruin 
Hangs  o'er  the  land,  if  I  in  word  or  deed 
Could  join  to  swell  the  woes  of  hapless  Thebes, 
T  were  unworthy — nay,  I  would  not  wish — 
To  live  another  day  :  alas  !  my  friends. 
Thus  to  be  deemed  a  traitor  to  my  country, 
To  you  my  fellow- citizens,  to  all 
That  hear  me,  'tis  infamy  and  shame ; 
I  cannot,  will  not  bear  it. 

Chor.  'Twas  th'  effect 

Of  sudden  anger  only — wliat  lie  said 
But  could  not  think. 

Creon.  Who  told  him  I  suborned 

The  prophet  to  speak  falsely  1     What  could  raise 
This  vile  suspicion  ? 

Chor.  Such  he  had,  but  whence 

I  know  not. 

Creon,         Talked  he  thus  with  firm  composure 
And  confidence  of  mind  ? 

Chor.  I  cannot  say ; 

'Tis  not  for  me  to  know  the  thoughts  of  kings, 
Or  judge  their  actions  !     But  behold  !  he  comes. 

Scene  II. 

CEdipus,  Creon,  Chorus. 

CEdi.  Ha  !  Creon  here  ?     And  dar'st  thou  thus 
approach 
My  palace,  thou  who  wouldst  have  murdered  me, 


23^> 


(TDTPUS  TYRj 


And  tnVn  my  kin^'tlom  ?     15y  the  gocls  I  ask  theo  ; 

Answer  me,  traitor,  didst  thou  think  me  fool, 

Or  coward,  that  I  could  not  see  thy  arts, 

Or  had  not  strength  to  vanquish  them  ?    What  madness, 

What  strange  infatuation  led  thee  on, 

Without  or  force  or  friends,  to  grasp  at  empire, 

Which  only  their  united  force  can  give  ? 

What  wei't  thou  doing  % 

Creon.  Hear  what  I  shall  answer, 

Then  judge  impartial. 

(Edi.  Thou  canst  talk  it  well, 

But  I  shall  ne'er  attend  to  thee ;  thy  guilt 
Js  plain  ;  thou  art  my  deadliest  foe. 

CiiEOX.  But  hear 

What  I  shall  urge. 

GilDi.  8ay  not  thou  art  innocent. 

C'REON.  If  self-opinion  void  of  reason  seem 
Conviction  to  thee,  know,  thou  errVt  most  gi'ossly 

CEdi.  And  thou  more  grossly,  if  thou  thinkst  to  pass 
Unpunished  for  this  injury  to  thy  friend. 

Creon.  I  should  not,  were  I  guilty ;  but  w^hat  crime 
Have  I  committed  %     Tell  me. 

(Edi.  Wert  not  thou 

The  man  who  urged  me  to  require  the  aid 
Of  your  all-knowing  prophet  % 

Creon.  True,  I  was; 

1  did  persuade  you ;  so  I  would  again. 

CEdi.  How  long  is  it  since  Laius 

Creon.  Laius  !     What  ? 

CEdi.  Since  Laius  fell  by  hands  unknown  % 

Creon.  A  long, 

Long  tract  of  years. 

CEdi.  Was  this  Tiresias  then 

A  prophet  % 

Creon.         Ay ;  in  wisdom  and  in  fame 
As  now  excelling. 

CEdi.  Did  he  then  say  aught 

Concerning  me  1 

Creon.  I  never  heard  he  did. 

CEdi.  Touching  this  murder,  did  you  ne'er  inquire 
Who  were  the  authors  ? 


23: 

Creon.  Doubtless  ;  but  in  vain. 

(Edi.  Why  did  not  this  same  prophet  then  inform  you 
Creon.  I  know  not  that,  and  when  I'm  ignorant 
I'm  always  silent. 

CEdi.  What  concerns  thyself 

At  least  thou  knowst,  and  therefore  shouklst  declare  it. 
Creon.  What  is  it  1     Speak ;  and  if  'tis  in  my  power, 
I'll  answer  thee. 

(Edi.  Thou  knowst,  if  this  Tiresias 

Had  not  combined  with  thee,  he  would  not  thus 
Accuse  me  as  the  murderer  of  Laius, 

Creon.  What  he  declares,  thou  best  canst  tell :  of  me, 
What  thou  requirest,  myself  am  yet  to  learn. 

CEdi.  Go,  learn  it  then  ;  but  ne'er  shalt  thou  discover, 
That  CEdi  pus  is  guilty. 

Creon.  Art  not  thou 

My  sister's  husband  ? 

CEdi.  Granted. 

Creon.  Joined  with  her, 

Thou  rul'st  o'er  Thebes. 

CEdi.  'Tis  true,  and  all  she  asks 

Most  fi^eely  do  I  give  her. 

Creon.  Is  not  Creon 

In  honour  next  to  you  ? 

CEdi.  Thou  art ;  and  therefore 

The  more  ungrateful. 

Creon.  Hear  what  I  shall  plead 

And  thou  wilt  never  think  so.     Tell  me,  prince, 
Is  there  a  man  who  would  prefer  a  throne. 
With  all  its  dangers,  to  an  equal  rank 
In  peace  and  safety  1     I  am  not  of  those 
Who  choose  the  name  of  king  before  the  power ; 
Fools  only  make  such  wishes  :  I  have  all 
From  thee,  and  fearless  I  enjoy  it  all : 
Had  I  the  sceptre,  often  must  I  act 
Against  my  will.     Know  then,  I  am  not  yet 
So  void  of  sense  and  reason  as  to  quit 
A  real  Vantage  for  a  seeming  good. 
Am  I  not  happy,  am  I  not  revered. 
Embraced,  and  loved  by  all  ?     To  me  they  come 
Who  want  thy  favour,  and  by  me  acquire  it ; 


23^? 


(EDIPUS  TVRANNUS. 


What  then  should  Ci*eon  wisli  for ;  shall  he  lear© 
All  this  for  empire?     Bad  desires  corrupt 
The  fairest  mind.     I  never  entertained 
A  thought  80  vile,  nor  would  I  lend  my  aid 
To  forwai'd  such  base  purposes.     But  go 
To  Delphos,  ask  the  sacred  oracle 
If  I  have  spoke  the  truth  ;  if  there  you  find 
That  with  the  prophet  I  conspired,  destroy 
The  guilty  Creon  ;  not  thy  voice  alone 
Shall  then  condemn  me,  for  myself  will  join 
In  the  just  sentence.     But  accnse  me  not 
On  weak  suspicion's  most  uncertain  test. 
Justice  would  never  call  the  wicked  good, 
Or  brand  fair  virtue  with  the  name  of  vice, 
Unmerited  :  to  cast  away  a  friend, 
Faithful  and  just,  is  to  deprive  ourselves 
Of  life  and  being,  which  we  hold  most  dear : 
But  time  and  time  alone  revealeth  all ; 
That  only  shows  the  good  man's  excellence  : 
I  A  day  sufficeth  to  unmask  the  wicked. 

Chor.  O  king  !  his  caution  merits  your  regard ; 
Who  judge  in  haste  do  seldom  judge  aright. 

CEdi.  When  they  are  quick  who  plot  against  my  life, 
'Tis  fit  I  should  be  quick  in  my  defence ; 
If  I  am  tame  and  silent,  all  they  wish 
Will  soon  be  done,  and  CEdipus  must  fall. 

Creon.  What  wouldst  thou  have  ?  my  banishment  ? 

CEdi.  Thy  death, 

Creon.  But  first  inform  me  wherefore  I  should  die. 

CEdi.  Dost  thou  rebel  then  ?     Wilt  thou  not  submit  ? 

Creon.  Not  when  I  see  thee  thus  deceived. 

CEdi.  'Tis  fit 

I  should  defend  my  own. 

Creon.  And  so  should  I. 

CEdi.  Thou  art  a  traitor. 

Creon.  AVhat  if  it  should  prove 

I  am  not  so. 

CEdi.  A  king  must  be  obeyed. 

Creon.  Not  if  his  orders  are  unjust. 

CEdi.  0  Thebes ! 

O  citizens ! 


(EDTPUS  TYRANNUS.  239 

Creon.         I  too  can  call  on  Thebes  \ 
She  is  my  country. 

Chor.  Oh  !  no  more,  my  lords ; 

For  see,  Jocasta  comes  in  happiest  hour 
To  end  your  contest. 

Scene  III. 

Jocasta,  C'reon,  OIdipus,  Chorus. 

Joe.  Whence  this  sudden  tumult  ? 

O  princes  !    Is  this  well,  at  such  a  time 
With  idle  broils  to  multiply  the  woes 
Of  wretched  Thebes  %     Home,  home,  for  shame  !  nor 

thus 
With  private  quarrels  swell  the  public  ruin. 

Creon.  Sister,  thy  husband  hath  most  basely  used 
me; 
He  threatens  me  with  banishment  or  death. 

GEdi.  I  do  confess  it ;  for  he  did  conspire 
With  vile  and  Avicked  arts  against  my  life. 

Creon.  Oh  !  may  I  never  prosper,  but  accursed, 
XJnpitied,  perish  if  I  ever  did. 

Joe.  Believe  him,  CEdipus  ;  revere  the  gods 
Whom  he  contests,  if  thou  dost  love  Jocasta ; 
Thy  subjects  beg  it  of  thee. 

Chor.  Hear,  0  king ! 

Consider,  we  entreat  thee. 

(Em.  What  wouldst  have  ? 

Think  you  I'll  e'er  submit  to  him  % 

Chor.  Revere 

His  character,  his  oath,  both  pleading  for  him. 

CEdi.  But  know  you  what  you  ask  % 

Chor.  We  do. 

(Edi.  What  is  it  ? 

Chor.  We  ask  thee  to  believe  a  guiltless  friend, 
Nor  cast  him  forth  dishonoured  thus,  on  slight 
Suspicion's  weak  surmise. 

CEdi.  Bequesting  this, 

You  do  request  my  banishment,  or  death. 

Chor.  No ;  by  yon  leader  of  the  heavenly  host, 


iao 


Th'  immortal  sun,  1  liail  not  such  a  thought ; 
I  only  felt  for  Thebes'  distressful  state, 
And  would  not  have  it  by  domestic  strife 
Embittered  thus. 

CEdi.  Why,  let  liim  then  depart : 

If  G^dipus  must  die,  or  leave  his  country 
For  shameful  exile,  be  it  so ;  1  yield 
To  thy  request,  not  his ;  for  hateful  still 
Shall  Cieon  ever  be. 

Creon.  Thy  stubborn  soul 

Bends  with  reluctance,  and  when  anger  fiies  it 
Is  terrible ;  but  natures  formed  like  thine 
Are  their  own  punishment. 

CEdi.  Wilt  thou  not  hence  1 

Wilt  not  begone  ? 

Creon.  I  go ;  thou  knowst  me  not ; 

But  these  will  do  me  justice.  [Exit  Creon. 


i 


Scene  IV. 

JOCASTA,    (EdIPUS,    ChORUS. 

Chor.  Princess,  now 

Persuade  him  to  retire. 

Joe.  First,  let  me  know 

The  cause  of  this  dissension. 

Chor.  From  reports 

Uncertain,  and  suspicions  most  injurious. 
The  quarrel  rose. 

Joe.  Was  th'  accusation  mutual  1 

Chor.  It  w\as. 

Joe.  AVhat  followed  then  ? 

Chor.  Ask  me  no  more ; 

Enough  's  already  known  ;  we  '11  not  repeat 
The  woes  of  hapless  Thebes. 
.     CEdi.  You  are  all  blind, 

Insensible,  unjust;  you  love  me  not, 
Yet  boast  your  piety. 

Chor.  I  said  before. 

Again  I  say,  that  not  to  love  my  king 


CEDIPUS  TYRANNUS. 


241 


E'en  as  myself,  would  mark  me  for  the  worst 
Of  men.     For  thou  didst  save  expiring  Thebes. 
Oh  !  rise  once  more,  protect,  preserve  thy  country  1 

Joe.  0  king  !  inform  me,  whence  this  strange  dissen- 
sion ? 

CEdi,  I'll  tell  thee,  my  Jocasta,  for  thou  knowst 
The  love  I  bear  thee,  what  this  wicked  Creon 
Did  artfully  devise  against  me. 

Joe.  Speak  it, 

If  he  indeed  be  guilty. 

(Edi.  Creon  says 

That  I  did  murder  Laius. 

Joe.  Spake  he  this 

As  knowing  it  himself,  or  from  another  ? 

(Edi.  He  had  suborned  that  evil-working  priest, 
And  sharpens  every  tongue  against  his  king. 

Joe.  Let  not  a  fear  perplex  thee,  (Edipus ; 
Mortals  know  nothing  of  futurity, 
And  these  prophetic  seers  are  all  impostors ; 
I'll  prove  it  to  thee.     Know  then,  Laius  once, 
Not  from  Apollo,  but  his  priests,  received 
An  oracle,  which  said  it  was  decreed 
He  should  be  slain  by  his  own  son,  the  offspring 
Of  Laius  and  Jocasta.     Yet  he  fell 
By  strangers,  murdered,  for  so  fame  reports, 
By  robbers,  in  the  place  where_three  Avays  meet. 
A  son  was  born,  but  ere  three  days  had  passed 
The  infant's  feet  were  bored.     A  servant  took 
And  left  him  on  the  pathless  mountain's  top. 
To  perish  there.     Thus  Phoebus  ne'er  decreed 
That  he  should  kill  his  father,  or  that  Laius, 
Which  much  he  feared,  should  by  his  son  be  slain. 
Such  is  the  truth  of  oracles.     Henceforth 
Regard  them  not.     What  heaven  would  have  us  know,}' 
It  can  with  ease  unfold,  and  will  reveal  it.  ^ 

CEdi.  What  thou  hast  said,  Jocasta,  much  disturbs 
me; 
I  tremble  at  it. 

Joe.  Wherefore  shouldst  thou  fear  ? 

CEdi.  Methought  I  heard  thee  say,  Laius  was  slain 
Where  three  ways  meet. 


242  CEDIPUS  TYRANNUS. 

Joe.  'Twas  so  reported  then, 

And  is  so  still. 

CEdi.  Where  happened  the  misfortune  1 

Joe.  In  Phocis,  where  the  roads  unite  that  lead  ^ 
To  Delphi  and  to  Daulia. 

(Edi.  How  long  since  ? 

Joe.  A  little  time  ere  you  began  to  reign 
O'er  Thebes,  we  heard  it. 

CEdi.  0  almighty  Jove  ! 

What  -vvilt  thou  do  with  me  ? 

Joe.  Why  talkst  thou  thus  'f 

GEdi.  Ask  me  no  more ;  but  tell  me  of  this  Laius  : 
What  was  his  age  and  stature  1 

J  oc.  He  was  tall ; 

His  hairs  just  turning  to  the  silver  hue  ; 
His  form  not  much  unlike  thy  own. 

(Em.  0  me  ! 

Sure  I  have  called  down  curses  on  myself 
Unknowing. 

Joe  Ha  !  what  sayst  thou,  CEdipus  ? 

I  tremble  whilst  I  look  on  thee. 

OEdi.  Oh !  much 

1  fear  the  prophet  saw  too  well ;  but  say, 
One  thing  will  make  it  clear. 

Joe.  I  dread  to  hear  it ; 

Yet  speak,  and  I  will  tell  thee'. 

GEdi.  Went  he  forth 

With  few  attendants,  or  a  numerous  train. 
In  kingly  pomp  % 

Joe.  They  were  but  tive  in  all. 

The  herald  with  them ;  but  one  chariot  there. 
Which  carried  Laius. 

CEdt,  Oh  !  'tis  but  too  plain. 

Who  1  wrought  the  news  1 

Joe.  A  servant,  who  alone 

Escaped  with  Ufe. 

CEdi.  That  servant,  is  he  here  1 

Joe.  Oh  no  !     His  master  slain,  when  he  returned 
And  saw  thee  on  the  throne  of  Thebes,  with  piayer 
Most  earnest  he  beseeched  me  to  dismiss  him, 
That  he  might  leave  this  city,  where  he  wished 


(EDIPUS  TYRANNUS.  243 

No  longer  to  be  seen,  but  to  retire, 
And  feed  my  flocks  ;  I  granted  his  request, 
For  that  and  more  his  honest  services 
Had  merited. 

OEdi.  I  beg  he  may  be  sent  for 

Immediately. 

Joe.  He  shall ;  but  wherefore  is  it  ? 

CEdi.   I  fear  thou  'st  said  too  much,  and  therefore  wish 
To  see  him. 

Joe.  He  shall  come  ;  but,  O  my  lord  ! 

Am  I  not  worthy  to  be  told  the  cause 
Of  this  distress  ? 

CEdi.  Thou  art,  and  I  will  tell  thee ; 

Thou  art  my  hope — to  whom  should  I  impart 
My  sorrows,  but  to  thee  %     Know  then,  Jocasta, 
I  am  the  son  of  Polybus,  who  reigns 
At  Corinth,  and  the  Dorian  Merope 
His  queen  ;  there  long  I  held  the  foremost  rank, 
Honoured  and  happy,  when  a  strange  event 
(For  strange  it  was,  though  little  meriting 
The  deep  concern  I  felt)  alarmed  me  much  : 
A  drunken  reveller  at  a  feast  proclaimed 
That  I  was  only  fixe  ^'apposed  son_      ^^...-. 
Of  Corinth's  king.     Scarce  could  I  bear  that  day 
The  vile  reproach.     The  next,  I  sought  my  parents 
And  asked  of  them  the  truth ;  they  too,  enraged, 
Resented  much  the  base  indignity. 
I  liked  their  tender  warmth,  but  still  I  felt 
A  secret  anguish,  and,  unknown  to  them, 
Sought  out  the  Pythian  oracle.     In  vain. 
Touching  my  parents  nothing  could  I  learn  ; 
But  dreadful  were  the  miseries  it  denounced 
Against  me.     'Twas  my  fate,  Apollo  said, 
To  wed  my  mother,  to  produce  a  race 
Accursed  and  abhorred ;  and  last,  to  slay 
My  father  who  begat  me.     Sad  decree  ! 
Lest  I  should  e'er  fulfil  the  dire  prediction, 
Instant  I  fled  from  Corinth,  by  the  stars 
Guiding  my  hapless  journey  to  the  place 
Where  thou  report'st  this  wretched  king  was  slain. 
But  I  will  tell  thee  the  whole  truth.     At  length 


came  to  where  the  three  ways  meet,  when,  lo! 
I  A  herald,  with  another  man  hke  him 
!  Wliom  thou  describst,  and  in  a  cliariot,  met  me. 
Both  strove  with  violence  to  drive  me  back ; 
Enraged,  I  struck  the  charioteer,  when  straight. 
As  I  advanced,  the  old  man  saw,  and  twice 
Smote  me  o'  th'  head,  but  dearly  soon  repaid 
The  insult  on  me  ;  from  his  chariot  rolled 
Prone  on  the  earth,  beneath  my  staff  he  fell, 
And  instantly  expired  !     Th'  attendant  train 
All  shared  his  fate.     If  this  unhappy  stranger 
And  Laius  be  the  same,  lives  there  a  wretch 
So  cursed,  so  hateful  to  the  gods  as  I  am  ? 
Nor  citizen  nor  alien  must  receive, 
Or  converse,  or  communion  hold  with  me, 
But  drive  me  forth  with  infamy  and  shame. 
The  dreadful  curse  pronounced  with  my  own  lips 
Shall  soon  o'ertake  me.     I  have  stained  the  bed 
Of  him  whom  I  had  murdered ;  am  I  then 
Aught  but  pollution  ?     If  I  fly  from  hence, 
The  bed  of  incest  meets  me,  and  I  go 
Tc  sby  m^  father  Polybus,  the  best, 
The  tenderest  parent.     This  must  bo.  the  work 
Of  some  malignant  power.     Ye  righteous  gods  ! 
^Let  me  not  seejbhatdaj'-,  but  rest  in  death, 
Bather  than  su'ffer  such  calamity. 

Chor.  O  king  !  we  pity  thy  distress:   but  w^ait 
With  patience  his  arrival,  and  despair  not. 

CEdi.  That  shepherd  is  my  only  hope :  Jocasta, 
Would  he  were  here  ! 

Joe.  Suppose  he  were ;  what  then  ? 

What  wouldst  thou  do  ? 

CEdi.  I'll  tell  thee  :  if  he  says 

The  same  as  thou  dost,  I  am  safe  and  guiltless. 

Joe.  What  said  I,  th&n  ? 

CEdi.  Thou  saidst  he  did  report 

Laius  was  slain  by  robbers ;  if  'tis  true 
He  fell  by  numbers,  I  am  innocent, 
For  I  was  unattended ;  if  but  one 
Attacked  and  slew  him,  doubtless  I  am  he. 


CEDIPUS  TYRANNUS, 


45 


Joe.  Be  satisfied  it  must  be  as  he  first 
Reported  it ;  he  cannot  cliange  the  tale  : 
Xot  I  alone,  but  the  whole  city  heard  it. 
( )r  ^rant  he  should,  the  oracle  was  ne'er 
Falfilled ;  for  Phoebus  said,  JocSsta's  son 
Should  slay  his  father.     That  could  never  be  ; 
For,  oh  !  Jocasta's  son  long  since  is  dead. 
ITe  could  not  murder  Laius ;  therefore  never 
Will  I  attend  to  prophecies  again. 

OEdi.  Right,  my  Jocasta  ;  but,  I  beg  thee,  send 
And  fetch  this  shepherd  ;  do  not  fail. 

Joe.  I  will 

This  moment ;  come,  my  lord,  let  us  go  in  •• 
I  will  do  nothing  but  what  pleases  thee,  -  [Exeunt. 

Scene    V. 
Chorus. 

StroijJie  I. 

Grant  me  henceforth,  ye  powers  divine, 

In  virtue's  purest  paths  to  tread  ! 

In  every  word,  in  every  deed. 
May  sanctity  of  manners  ever  shine  ! 

Obedient  to  the  laws  of  Jove, 

The  laws  descended  from  above. 
Which,  not  like  those  by  feeble  mortals  given, 

Buried  in  dark  oblivion  lie, 

Or  worn  by  time  decay,  and  die, 
But  bloom  eternal  like  their  native  heaven  ! 

Antistrophe  i. 

Pride  first  gave  birth  to  tyrflnufi^r"^ 

That  hateful  viceTinsultJrg  pvi^^^ 

When,  every  human  power  defied, 
She  lifts  to  glory's  height  her  votary  ; 

Soon  stumbling,  from  her  tottering  throne 

She  throws  the  wretched  victim  down. 


24^^ 


CEDTPVS  TYRANNUS. 


But  may  the  pfod  indulgent  hear  my  prnyer, 
That  god  wliom  humbly  I  adore, 
Oh  !  may  he  smile  on  Thebes  once  more, 

And  take  its  wretched  monarch  to  his  care  ! 

Stro2)he  2. 

Perish  the  impious  and  profane, 

Who,  void  of  reverential  fear. 

Nor  justice  nor  the  laws  revere, 
"Who  leave  their  god  for  pleasure  or  for  gain  ! 

Who  swell  by  fraud  their  ill-got  store, 

Who  rob  the  wretched  and  the  poor  ! 
If  vice  unpunished  virtue's  meed  obtain, 

Who  shall  refrain  the  impetuous  soul, 

The  rebel  passions  who  control, 
Or  wherefore  do  I  lead  this  choral  train  ? 

Antistrophe  2. 

No  more  to  Delphi's  sacred  shrine 

Need  we  with  incense  now  repair, 

No  more  shall  Phocis  hear  our  prayer ; 
Nor  fair  Olympia  see  Jier  rites  divine ; 

If  oracles  no  longer  prove 

The  power  of  Phoebus  and  of  Jove. 
Great  lord  of  all,  from  thy  eternal  throne 

Behold,  how  impious  men  defame 

Thy  loved  Apollo's  honoured  name ; 
Oh  !  guard  his  rights,  and  vindicate  thy  own.     [Exeunt. 


ACT    IV. 

'Scene  I. 

JocASTA,  Chorus. 

JocASTA.  Sages  and  rulers  of  the  land,  I  come 
To  seek  the  altars  of  the  gods,  and  there 
With  incense  and  oblations  to  appease 


(EDIPUS  TYRANNUS,  ^47 

Offended  Heaven.     My  (Edipus,  alas  ! 
JN"o  longer  wise  and  prudent,  as  you  all 
Remember  once  he  was,  with  present  things 
Compares  the  past,  nor  judges  like  himself ; 
Unnumbered  cares  perplex  his  anxious  mind, 
And  every  tale  awakes  new  terrors  in  him ; 
Vain  is  my  counsel,  for  he  hears  me  not. 
First,  then,  to  thee,  0  Phoebus  !  for  thou  still 
Art  near  to  help  the  wretched,  we  appeal, 
And  suppliant  beg  thee  now  to  grant  thy  aid 
Propitious ;  deep  is  our  distress ;  for,  oh  ! 
"We  see  our  pilot  sinking  at  the  helm, 
And  much  already  fear  the  vessel  lost. 


Scene  II. 
Shepherd  from  Corinth,  Jocasta,  Chorus. 

Shep.  Can  you  instruct  me,  strangers,  which  way 
lies 
The  palace  of  king  Oedipus  ;  himself 
I  would  most  gladly  see.     Can  you  inform  me  ? 

Chor.  This  is  the  palace  ;  he  is  now  within  ; 
Thou  seest  his  queen  before  thee. 

Shep.  Ever  blest 

And  happy  with  the  happy  mayst  thou  live ! 

Joe.  Stranger,  the  same  good  wish  to  thee,  for  well 
Thy  words  deserve  it ;  but  say,  wherefore  com'st  thou, 
And  what 's  thy  news  ? 

Shep.  To  thee,  and  to  thy  husband. 

Pleasure  and  joy. 

Joe.  What  pleasure  ?     And  whence  art  thou  ? 

Shep.  From  Corinth.     To  be  brief,  I  bring  thee 
tidings 
Of  good  and  evil. 

Joe.  Ha !  what  mean  thy  words 

Ambiguous  ? 

Shep.  Know  then,  if  report  say  true, 

The  Isthmian  people  will  choose  CEdipus 
Their  sovereiirn. 


248 


(EDIPUS  TYRANNUS. 


No; 


Joe. 

SnEP. 

Joe. 

SllEP.    If 

Joe.  \to 


Is  not  Polybus  their  king  ? 
Poly  bus  is  dead. 

What  sayst  thou  ?     Dead  1 
I  speak  falsely,  may  death  seize  on  me ! 
one  of  her  Atpendants].  Why  fliest  thou  not 


to  tell  thy  master  ?     Hence  ! 
What  aie  you  now,  you  oracles  divine  ? 
Where  is  your  truth  %     The  fearful  (Edipus 
From  Corinth  Hed,  lest  he  should  slay  the  king, 
This  Polybus,  who  perished,  not  by  him, 
But  by  the  hand  of  Heaven. 


(Edi. 


Scene  III. 
(Edipus,  Jocasta,  Shepherd,  Chorus. 
My  dear  Jocasta, 


Why  hast  thou  called  me  hither  ? 

Joe.  Hear  this  man, 

And  when  thou  hearst  him,  mark  what  faith  is  due 
To  your  revered  oracles. 

(Edi.  Who  is  he  ? 

And  what  doth  he  report  ? 

Joe.  He  comes  from  Corinth, 

And  says  thy  father  Polybus  is  dead. 

(Edi.  What  sayst  thou,  stranger  ?    Speak  to  me — oh! 
speak ! 

Shep.  If  touching  this  thou  fii'St  desir'st  my  answer ; 
Know,  he  is  dead. 

(Edi.  How  died  he  %     Say,  by  treason. 

Or  some  disease  ? 

Shep.  Alas  !  a  little  force 

Will  lay  to  rest  the  weary  limbs  of  age. 

(Edi.  Distemper  then  did  kill  him  ? 

Shep.  That  in  part, 

And  part  a  length  of  years  that  wore  him  down. 

(Edi.  Now,  my  Jocasta,  who  shall  henceforth  trust 
To  prophecies,  and  seers,  and  clanioious  birds 
With  their  vain  omens — they  who  had  decreed 
That  T  should  kill  my  father.     He  thou  seest 


r 


CEDTPUS  TYRANNUS,  249 

Beneath  the  earth  lies  buried,  whilst  I  live 
In  safety  here  and  guiltless  of  his  blood  : 
Unless  perhaps  sorrow  for  loss  of  me 
Shortened  his  days,  thus  only  could  I  kill 
My  father.     But  ho's  gone,  and  to  the  shades 
Hath  cariied  with  him  those  vain  oracles 
Of  fancied  ills,  no  longer  worth  my  care. 

Joe.  Did  I  not  say  it  would  be  thus  % 

OEdi.  Thou  didst ; 

But  I  was  full  of  fears. 

Joe.  Henceforth,  no  more 

Indulge  them. 

(Edi.  But  my  mother's  bed — that  still 

Must  be  avoided.     I  must  fly  from  that. 

Joe.  Why  should  man  fear,  whom  chance,  and  chance 
alone, 
Doth  ever  rule  1     Foreknowledge,  all  is  vain, 
And  can  determine  nothing.     Therefore  best 
It  is  to  live  as  fancy  leads,  at  large, 
Uncurbed,  and  only  subject  to  our  will. 
Fear  not  thy  mother's  bed.     Oftimes  in  dreams 
Have  men  committed  incest.     But  his  life 
Will  ever  be  most  happy  who  contemns 
Such  idle  phantoms. 

(Edi.  Thou  wert  right,  Jocasta, 

Did  not  my  mother  live.     But  as  it  is, 
Spite  of  thy  words,  I  must  be  anxious  still. 

Joe.  Think  on  thy  father's  death  ;  it  is  a  light 
To  guide  thee  here. 

CEdi.  It  is  so.     Yet  I  fear 

Whilst  she  survives  him. 

Shep.  Who  is  it  you  mean  ? 

What  woman  fear  you  ? 

CEdi.  Merope,  the  wife 

Of  Polybus. 

Shep.  And  wherefore  fear  you  her  % 

QHdi.   Know,  stranger,  a  most  dreadful  oracle 
Concerning  her  affrights  me. 

Shep.  May  I  know  it. 

Or  must  it  be  revealed  to  none  but  thee? 

CEdi.  Oh  no  !  I'll  tell  thee.     Phoebus  hath  declared 


2^0 


(ED! PUS   TV R ANNUS, 


Tliat  (EcHpuR  should  stain  his  motlier's  })e(l,  1 

And  dip  his  h.'inds  in  his  own  fatlier's  blootl ; 
Wherefore  1  iled  from  Corinth,  and  lived  here, 
In  happiness  indeed.     But  still  thou  knowst 
It  is  a  blessing  to  behold  our  parents, 
And  that  I  had  not. 

Shep.  Was  it  for  this  cause 

Thou  wert  an  exile  then  % 

(Edi.  It  was.     I  feared 

That  I  might  one  day  prove  my  father's  murderer. 

SiiEP.  What  if  I  come,  O  king  !  to  banish  hence 
Thy  terrors,  and  restore  thy  peace  % 

CEdi.  Oh  stranger! 

Couldst  thou  do  this,  I  would  reward  thee  nobly. 

SiiEP.  Know  then,  for  this  I  came.     I  came  to  serve, 
And  make  thee  happy. 

CEdi.  But  I  will  not  go 

Back  to  my  parents. 

Shep.  Son,  I  see  thou  knowst  not 

What  thou  art  doing. 

(Edi.  Wlierefore  thinkst  thou  so  ? 

By  heaven  I  beg  thee  then  do  thou  instruct  me. 

Shep.  If  thou  didst  fly  from  Corinth  for  this  cause 

(Edi.  Apollo's  dire  predictions  still  affright  me. 

Shep.  Fearst  thou  pollution  from  thy  parents  ? 

(Edi.  That, 

And  that  alone  I  dread. 

Shep.  Thy  fears  are  vain. 

(Edi.  Not  if  they  are  my  parents. 

Shep.  Polybus 

Was  not  akin  to  thee. 

(Edi.  What  sayst  thou  %     Speak 

Say,  was  not  Polybus  my  father  ? 

Shep.  No ; 

No  more  than  he  is  mine. 

(Edi.  Why  call  me  then 

His  son  % 

Shep.      Because  long  since  I  gave  thee  to  him — 
He  did  receive  thee  from  these  hands. 

(Edi.  Indeed ! 

And  could  he  love  another's  child  so  well  ? 


(ED  IP  us  TYRANNUS.  25 1 

Shep.  He  had  no  children ;  that  persuaded  him 
To  take  and  keep  thee. 

CEdi.  Didst  thou  buy  me,  then, 

Or  am  I  thine,  and  must  I  call  thee  father  1 

Shep.  I  found  thee  in  Cithaeron's  woody  vale. 

OEdi.  What  brought  thee  there  ? 

Shep.  I  came  to  feed  my  flocks 

On  the  green  mountain's  side. 

CEdi.  It  seems  thou  wert 

A  wandering  shepherd. 

Shep.  Thy  deliverer; 

I  saved  thee  from  destruction. 

(Edi.  How  ?     What  then 

Had  happened  to  me  ? 

Shep.  Thy  own  feet  will  best 

Inform  thee  of  that  circumstance. 

CEdt.  Alas ! 

Why  callst  thou  to  remembrance  a  misfortune 
Of  so  long  date  % 

Shep.  'Twas  I  who  loosed  the  tendons 

Of  thy  bored  feet. 

(Edi.  It  seems  in  infancy 

I  suffered  much,  then. 

Shep.  Tc  this  incident 

Thou  ow'st  thy  name. 

CEdi.  My  father,  or  my  mother, 

Who  did  it  1     Knowst  thou  ? 

Shep.  He  who  gave  thee  to  mo 

Must  tell  thee  that. 

CEdi.  Then  from  another's  hand 

Thou  didst  receive  me. 

Shep,  .  Ay ;  another  shepherd. 

CEdi.  Whc  was  he  %     Canst  thou  recollect  ? 

Shep.  'Twas  one, 

At  least  so  called,  of  Laius'  family. 

CEdi.  Laius,  who  ruled  at  Thebes  ? 

Shep.  The  same  ]  this  imai 

Was  shepherd  to  King  Laius. 

CEdi.  Lives  he  still  ? 

And  could  I  see  him  ? 

Shep.  [pointing  to  the  Chorus].  Some  of  these  perhaps, 
His  countrymen,  may  give  you  information. 


(EDI  PUS  TV  RAN  N  US. 


CEdi.  \to  Ihe  Chorus].  Oh 
you  Know 


speak,  my  friends,  if  any  of 


This  shepherd  ;  whether  still  he  lives  at  Thebes, 
Or  in  some  neighbouring  country.     Tell  me  quick, 
For  it  concerns  us  near. 

Chor.  It  must  be  he 

Whom  thou  didst  lately  send  for ;  but  the  queen 
Can  best  inform  thee. 

QEdi.  Knowst  thou,  my  Jocasta, 

Whether  the  man  whom  thou  didst  order  hither. 
And  whom  the  shepherd  speaks  of,  be  the  same  1 

Joe    Whom  meant  he  ?  for  I  know  not.     CEdipus, 
Think  not  so  deeply  of  this  thing. 

(Edi.  Good  heaven ! 

Forbid,  Jocasta,  I  should  now  neglect 
To  clear  my  birth,  when  thus  the  path  is  marked 
And  open  to  me. 

Joe.  Do  not,  by  the  gods 

I  beg  thee,  do  not,  if  thy  life  be  dear. 
Make  further  search,  for  I  have  felt  enough 
Already  from  it. 

CEdi.  Kest  thou  satisfied ; 

Were  I  descended  from  a  race  of  slaves, 
'Twould  not  dishonour  thee. 

Joe.  Yet  hear  me ;  do  not, 

Once  more  I  beg  thee,  do  not  search  this  matter. 

(Edi.  I  will  not  be  persuaded.  I  must  search 
And  find  it  too. 

Joe.  I  know  it  best,  and  best 

Advise  thee. 

CEdi.  That  advice  perplexes  more. 

Joe.  Oh  !  would  to  heaven  that  thou  mayst  never  know 
Or  who,  or  whence  thou  art ! 

CEdi.  \to  the  Attendants].  Let  some  one  fetch 
That  shepherd  quick,  and  leave  this  woman  here 
To  glory  in  her  high  descent. 

Joe.  Alas ! 

Unhappy  CEdipus  !  that  word  alone 
I  now  can  soaak  :  remember  'tis  my  last. 

[Exit  JOOAS'J'A. 


(EDIPUS  TYRANNOS.  253 


Scene  IY. 
Qi^DiPUS,  Chorus. 


Chor.  "Why  fled  the  queen  in  such  disorder  hence  ? 
Sorely  distressed  she  seemed,  and  much  I  fear 
Her  silence  bodes  some  sad  event. 

CEdi.  Whate'er 

May  come  of  that,  I  am  resolved  to  know 
The  secret  of  my  birth,  how  mean  soever 
It  chance  to  prove.     Perhaps  her  sex's  pride 
May  make  her  blush  to  find  I  was  not  born 
Of  noble  parents ;  but  I  call  myself 
The  son  of  fortune,  my  indulgent  mothei', 
Whom  I  shall  never  be  ashamed  to  own. 
The  kindred  months  that  are  like  me,  her  children, 
The  years  that  roll  obedient  to  her  will, 
Have  raised  me  from  the  lowest  state  to  power 
And  splendour.     Wherefore,  being  what  I  am, 
I  need  not  fear  the  knowledge  of  my  birth. 


Scene  V. 
Chorus. 

Strophe. 

If  my  prophetic  soul  doth  well  divine. 
Ere  on  thy  brow  to-morrow's  sun  shall  shine, 
Cithreron,  thou  the  mystery  shalt  unfold  ; 
The  doubtful  (Edipus,  no  longer  blind, 
Shall  soon  his  country  and  his  father  find, 
And  all  the  story  of  his  birth  be  told. 
Then  shall  we  in  grateful  lays 
Celebrate  our  monarch's  praise, 
And  in  the  sprightly  dance  our  songs  triumphant  raise. 


254 


(EDIPUS  TYRtlNNUS, 


Antistroplie. 

What  heavenly  power  gave  birth  to  thee,  O  king  ! 
From  Pan,  the  god  of  mountains,  didst  thou  sprin^ 

With  some  fail'  daughter  of  Apollo  joined  ; 
Art  thou  from  him  who  o'er  Cyllene  reigns, 
JSwift  Hermes,  sporting  in  Arcadia's  plains? 
Some  nymph  of  Helicon  did  Bacchus  find — 
Bacchus,  who  delights  to  rove 
Through  the  forest,  hill  and  grove — 
And  art  thou,  prince,  the  offspring  of  their  love  ? 


Scene  VI. 
CEdipus,  Chorus,  Shepherd  fro3i  Corinth. 

(Edi.  If  I  may  judge  of  one  whom  yet  I  ne'er 
Had  converse  with,  yon  old  man,  whom  I  see 
This  way  advancing,  must  be  that  same  shepherd 
We  lately  sent  for,  by  his  age  and  mien, 
E'en  as  this  stranger  did  describe  him  to  us ; 
My  servants  too  are  with  him.     But  you  best 
Can  say,  for  you  must  know  him  well. 

Chor.  'Tis  he, 

My  lord ;  the  faithful  shepherd  of  King  Laius. 

CEdi.  \to  the  Shepherd /rowi  Co^^inth].  What  sayst 
thou,  stranger  ? —  is  it  he  ? 

Shep.  It  is. 


Scene  YII. 

Old  Shepherd,  CEdipus,  Shepherd  from  Corinth, 
Chorus. 

(Edi.  Now  answer  me,  old  man ;  look  this  way — 
speak : 
Didst  thou  belong  to  Laius  1 

Old  Shep.  Sir,  I  did ; 

No  hireling  slave,  but  in  his  palace  bred, 
I  served  him  long. 


CEDIPUS  TYR ANNUS,  255 

CEdi.  "What  was  thy  business  there  ? 

Old  Siiep.  For  my  Hfe's  better  part  I  tended  sheep. 

(Edi.  And  whither  didst  thou  lead  them  ? 

Old  Siiep.  To  CithaBron, 

And  to  the  neighbouring  plains. 

(Edi.  Behold  this  man  : 

[pointing  to  the  Shepherd  of  Corinth 
Dost  thou  remember  to  have  seen  him  1 

Old  Shep.  Whom  1 

What  hath  he  done  ? 

CEdi.  Him,  who  now  stands  before  thee, 

Callst  thou  to  mind,  or  converse  or  connection 
Between  you  in  times  past  ? 

Old  Shep.  I  cannot  say 

I  recollect  it  now. 

Shep.  of  Corinth.  I  do  not  wonder 
He  should  forget  me,  but  I  will  recall 
Some  facts  of  ancient  date.     He  must  remember 
When  on  Cithaeron  we  together  fed 
Our  several  flocks,  in  daily  converse  joined 
From  spring  to  autumn,  and  when  winter  bleaK. 
Approached,  retired.     I  to  my  little  cot 
Conveyed  my  sheep ;  he  to  the  palace  led 
His  fleecy  care.     Canst  thou  remember  this  ? 

Old  Shep.  I  do ;  but  that  is  long,  long  since 

Shep.  of  Corinth.  It  is ; 
But  say,  good  shepherd,  canst  thou  call  to  mind 
An  infant  whom  thou  didst  deliver  to  me, 
Requesting  me  to  breed  him  as  my  own  ? 

Old  Shep.  Ha  !  wherefore  askst  thou  this  ? 

Shep.  of  Corinth  [pointing  to  CEdipus].  Behold  him 
here, 
That  very  child. 

Old  Shep.         Oh  !  say  it  not :  away ! 
Perdition  on  thee  ! 

CEdi.  Why  reprove  him  thus  ? 

Thou  art  thyself  to  blame,  old  man. 

Old  Shep.  In  what 

Am  I  to  blame,  my  lord  ? 

CEdi.  Thou  wilt  not  speak 

Touching  this  boy. 


56 


or  PUS  TVRANNV^:. 


Old  Shep.  Wm^  !  poor  man,  he  knows  not 
What  he  hath  said. 

Q^Di.  If  not  by  softer  means 

To  be  persuaded,  force  shall  wring  it  from  thee. 

Old  Siiep.  Treat  not  an  old  man  harshly. 

CEdi.  \to  the  AiTENDANTs].  Bind  his  hands. 

Old  Shep.  Wherefore,  my  lord  ?     What  wouldst  thou 
have  mo  do  ? 

CEdi.  That  child  he  talks  of,  didst  thou  give  it  to 
him? 

Old  Shep.  I  did  ;  and  would  to  heaven  I  then  had 
died! 

CEdi.  Die  soon  thou  shalt,  unless  thou  tellst  it  all. 

Old  Shep.  Say,  rather  if  I  do. 

OiJDi.  This  fellow  means 

To  trifle  with  us,  by  his  dull  delay. 

Old  Shep.  I  do  not ;  said  I  not  I  gave  the  child  ? 

QEdi.  Whence  came  the  boy  ?    Was  he  thy  own,  or  who 
Did  give  him  to  thee  ? 

Old  Shep.  From  another  hand 

I  had  received  him. 

CEdi.  Say,  what  hand  ?     From  whom  ? 

Whence  came  he  % 

Old  Shep.  Do  not — by  the  gods  I  beg  thee, 

Do  not  inquire. 

CEdi.  Force  me  to  ask  again, 

And  thou  shalt  die. 

Old  Shep.  In  Laius'  palace  born 

CEdi.  Son  of  a  slave,  or  of  the  king? 

Old  Shep.  Alas ! 

Tis  death  for  me  to  speak. 

CEdi.  And  me  to  hear ; 

Yet  say  it. 

Old  Shep.  He  was  called  the  son  of  Laius ; 
But  ask  the  queen,  for  she  can  best  inform  thee« 

CEdi.  Did  she  then  give  the  child  to  thee  ? 

Old  Shep.  She  did. 

CEdi.  For  what  ? 

Old  Shep.  To  kill  him. 

CEdi.  Kill  her  child  !     Inhuman 

And  barbarous  mother ! 


(EDIPUS  TYRANNUS,  257 

Old  Shep.  A  dire  oracle 

Affrighted,  and  constrained  her  to  it. 

CEdi.  Ha ! 

What  oracle  ? 

Old  Shep.      Which  said,  her  son  should  slay 
His  parents. 

CEdi.  Wherefore  gav'st  thou  then  the  infant 

To  this  old  shepherd  1 

Old  Shep.  Pity  moved  me  to  it : 

I  hoped  he  would  have  soon  conveyed  his  charge 
To  some  far  distant  country ;  he,  alas  ! 
Preserved  him  but  for  misery  and  woe ; 
For,  0  my  lord  !  if  thou  indeed  art  he, 
Thou  art  of  all  mankind  the  most  unhappy. 

CEdi.  0  me  !  at  length  the  mystery  's  unravelled  j 
'Tis  plain,  'tis  clear ;  my  fate  is  all  determined. 
Those  are  my  parents  who  should  not  have  been 
Allied  to  me ;  she  is  my  wife,  e'en  she 
Whom  Nature  had  forbidden  me  to  wed ; 
I  have  slain  him  who  gave  me  life ;  and  now 
Of  thee,  O  light !  I  take  my  last  farewell, 
For  (Edipus  shall  ne'er  behold  thee  more.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VIII. 
Chorus. 

Strophe  1. 

0  hapless  state  of  human  race  ! 

How  quick  the  fleeting  shadows  pass 

Of  transitory  bliss  below, 

Where  all  is  vanity  and  woe  ! 
By  thy  example  taught,  0  prince  !  we  see 
Man  was  not  made  for  true  f eUcity.  "^  '''^^^ 

Antistrophe  i. 

Thou,  CEdipus,  beyond  the  rest 
Of  mortals  wert  supremely  blest ; 
Whom  every  hand  conspired  to  raise. 
Whom  every  tongue  rejoiced  to  praise, 


25S  (EDIPUS  TYRANNUS. 

Wlien  from  the  Sphinx  thy  all  preserving  hand 
Stretched  forth  its  aid  to  save  a  sinking  Innd. 

Strophe  2. 

Thy  virtues  raised  thee  to  a  throne, 

And  grateful  Thebes  was  all  thy  own ; 

Alas  !  how  changed  that  glorious  name  ! 

Lost  are  thy  virtues  and  thy  fame  ; 
How  couldst  thou  thus  pollute  thy  father's  bed  ? 
How  couldst  thou  thus  thy  hapless  mother  wed  1 

Antistrophe  2. 

How  could  that  bed  unconscious  bear 
So  long  the  \dle  incestuous  pair  1 
But  time,  of  quick  and  piercing  sight. 
Hath  brought  the  horrid  deed  to  light ; 
At  length  Jocasta  owns  her  guilty  flame, 
And  finds  a  husband  and  a  child  the  same. 

E'pode. 

Wretched  son  of  Laius,  thee 

Henceforth  may  I  never  see, 

But  absent  shed  the  pious  tear, 

And  weep  thy  fate  with  grief  sincere  ! 
For  thou  didst  raise  our  eyes  to  life  and  light, 
To  close  them  now  in  everlasting  night. 


ACT  V. 

Scene   I. 
Messenger,  Chorus. 


Messenger.  Sages  of  Thebes,  most  honoured  and 
revered, 
If  e'er  the  house  of  Labdacus  was  dear 
And  precious  to  you,  what  will  be  your  grief 


CEDIPUS  TVRANNUS.  259 

When  I  shall  tell  the  most  disastrous  tale 

You  ever  heard,  and  to  your  eyes  present 

A  spectacle  more  dreadful  than  they  yet 

Did  e'er  behold  :  not  the  wide  Danube's  waves 

Nor  Phasis'  streams  can  wash  away  the  stains 

Of  this  polluted  palace ;  the  dire  crimes 

Long  time  concealed  at  length  are  brought  to  light ; 

But  those  which  spring  from  voluntary  guilt 

Are  still  more  dreadful. 

Chor.  Nothing  can  be  worse 

Than  that  we  know  already  ;  bringst  thou  more 
Misfortunes  to  us  1 

Mes.  To  be  brief,  the  queeUj 

Divine  Jocasta's  dead. 

Chor.  Jocasta  dead  !     Say,  by  what  hand  ? 

Mes.  Her  own  i 

And  what 's  more  dreadful,  no  one  saw  the  deed. 
What  I  myself  beheld  you  all  shall  hear. 
Inflamed  with  rage,  soon  as  she  reached  the  palace, 
Instant  retiring  to  the  nuptial  bed. 
She  shut  the  door,  then  raved  and  tore  her  hair, 
Called  out  on  Lai  us  dead,  and  bade  him  think 
On  that  unhappy  son  who  murdered  him 
And  stained  his  bed ;  then  turning  her  sad  eyes 
Upon  the  guilty  couch,  she  cursed  the  place 
Where  she  had  borne  a  husband  from  her  husband, 
And  children  from  her  child  ;  what  followed  then 
I  know  not,  by  the  cries  of  CEdipus 
Prevented,  for  on  him  our  eyes  were  fixed 
Attentive  ;  forth  he  came,  beseeching  us 
To  lend  him  some  sharp  weapon,  and  inform  him 
Where  he  might  find  his  mother  and  his  wife, 
His  children's  wretched  mother  and  his  own. 
Some  ill-designing  power  did  then  direct  him 
(For  we  were  silent)  to  the  queen's  apartment ; 
Forcing  the  bolt,  he  rushed  into  the  bed, 
And  found  Jocasta,  where  we  all  beheld  her, 
Entangled  in  the  fatal  noose,  which  soon 
As  he  perceived,  loosing  the  pendant  rope, 
Deeply  he  groaned,  and  casting  on  the  ground 
His  wretched  body,  showed  a  piteous  sight 


26o  (EDIPUS  TYRANNUS, 

To  tlie  beholders;  on  a  sudden,  thence 

Starting,  he  phicked  from  oft*  the  robe  she  wore 

A  golden  buckle  that  adorned  her  side. 

And  buried  in  his  eyes  the  sliai-pened  point, 

Crying,  he  ne'er  again  would  look  on  her, 

Never  would  see  his  crimes  or  miseries  more, 

Or  those  whom  guiltless  he  could  ne'er  behold, 

Or  those  to  whom  he  now  must  sue  for  aid. 

His  hfted  eyelids  then,  repeating  still 

These  dreadful  plaints,  he  tore  ;  whilst  down  his  cheek 

Fell  showers  of  blood  !     Such  fate  the  wretched  pair 

Sustained,  partakers  in  calamity. 

Fallen  from  a  state  of  happiness  (for  none 

Were  happier  once  than  they)  to  groans  and  death, 

Reproach  and  shame,  and  every  human  woe. 

Chor.  And  where  is  now  the  poor  unhappy  man  ? 

Mes.  Open  the  doors,  he  cries,  and  let  all  Thebes 
Behold  his  parents'  murderer,  adding  words 
Not  to  be  uttered  ;  banished  now,  he  says, 
He  must  be,  nor,  devoted  as  he  is 
By  his  own  curse,  remain  in  this  sad  place. 
He  wants  a  kind  conductor  and  a  friend 
To  help  him  now,  for  'tis  too  much  to  bear.    - 
But  you  will  see  him  soon,  for  lo  !  the  doors 
Are  opened,  and  you  will  behold  a  sight 
That  would  to  pity  move  his  deadliest  foe. 

Scene  II. 
(Edipus,  Messenger,  Chorus. 

Chor.  Oh  !  horrid  sight !  more  dreadful  spectacle 
Than  e'er  these  eyes  beheld  !  what  madness  urged  thee 
To  this  sad  deed  ?     What  power  malignant  heaped 
On  thy  poor  head  such  complicated  woe  ? 
Unhappy  man,  alas  !  I  would  have  held 
Some  converse  with  thee,  but  thy  looks  afiiight  me  j 
I  cannot  bear  to  speak  to  thee. 

(Edi.  O  me  ! 

Where  am  I  ?  and  whence  comes  the  voice  1  heai*  ? 
Where  art  thou,  fortup.e  ? 


(EDIPUS  TYRANNUS.  261 

Chok.  Changed  to  misery, 

Dreadful  to  hear,  and  dreadful  to  behold. 

CEdi.  0  cruel  darkness  !  endless,  hopeless  night, 
Shame,  terrors,  and  unutterable  woe ! 
Mere  painful  is  the  memory  of  my  crimes 
Than  all  the  wounds  my  wild  distraction  made. 

Chor.  Thus  doubly  cursed,  O  prince  !  I  wonder  not 
At  thy  affliction. 

CEdi.  Aii;  thou  here,  my  friend  % 

I  know  thy  voice ;  thou  wouldst  not  leave  the  wretched ; 
Thou  art  my  faithful,  kind  assistant  still. 

Chor.  How  couldst  thou  thus  deprive  thyself  of  sight  % 
What  madness  drove  thee  to  the  desperate  deed  ? 
What  god  inspired  % 

CEdi.  Apollo  was  the  cause ; 

He  was,  my  friends,  the  cause  of  all  my  woes ; 
But  for  these  eyes — myself  did  quench  their  light — 
I  want  not  them  ;  what  use  were  they  to  me, 
But  to  discover  scenes  of  endless  woe ; 

Chor.  'Tis  but  too  true. 

CEdi.  What  pleasure  now  remains 

For  CEdipus?    He  cannot  joy  in  aught 
To  sight  or  ear  delightful.     Curse  on  him, 
Whoe'er  he  was,  that  loosened  my  bound  feet. 
And  saved  me,  in  Cithseron's  vale,  from  death ! 
I  owe  him  nothing :  had  I  perished  then, 
Much  happier  had  it  been  for  you,  my  friends, 
And  for  myself. 

Chor.  I  too  could  wish  thou  hadst. 

CEdi.  I  should  not  then  have  murdered  Laius ;  then 
I  had  not  ta'en  Jocasta  to  my  bed ; 
But  now  I  am  a  guilty  wretch,  the  son 
Of  a  polluted  mother,  father  now 
To  my  own  brothers,  all  that 's  horrible 
To  nature  is  the  lot  of  CEdipus. 

Chor.  Yet  must  I  blame  this  cruel  act,  for  sure 
The  loss  of  sight  is  worse  than  death  itself. 

CEdi.  I  care  not  for  thy  counsel  or  thy  praise ; 
For  with  what  eyes  could  I  have  e'er  beheld 
My  honoured  father  in  the  shades  below, 
Or  my  unhappy  mother,  both  destroyed 


CEDIPUS  TYRANNUS. 


me?     This  jmnisliinent  is  worse  than  death, 
il  so  it  should  be.     Sweet  had  been  the  sight 
Of  my  dear  children — them  I  could  have  wished 
To  gaze  upon  ;  but  I  must  never  see 
C)r  them,  or  this  fail*  city,  or  the  palace 
Where  I  was  born.     Deprived  of  every  bliss 
By  my  own  lips,  which  doomed  to  banishment 
Tlie  murderer  of  Laius,  and  expelled 
The  impious  wretch,  by  gods  and  men  accursed : 
Could  I  behold  them  after  this  ?     Oh  no  ! 
Would  I  could  now  with  equal  ease  remove 
My  hearing  too,  be  deaf  as  well  as  blind, 
And  from  another  entrance  shut  out  woe ! 
To  want  our  senses,  in  the  hour  of  ill, 
Is  comfort  to  the  wretched.     O  Cithasron  ! 
Why  didst  thou  e'er  receive  me,  or  received. 
Why  not  destroy,  that  men  might  never  know 
Who  gave  me  birth  ?     O  Polybus  !  O  Corinth  ! 
And  thou,  long  time  beheved  my  father's  palace, 
Oh!  what  a  foul  disgrace  to  human  nature 
Didst  thou  receive  beneath  a  prince's  form  ! 
Impious  myself,  and  from  an  impious  race. 
Wliere  is  my  splendour  now  %     0  Daulian  path  ! 
The  shady  forest,  and  the  nari'ow  pass 
"Wliere  three  ways  meet,  who  drank  a  father's  blood 
Shed  by  these  hands,  do  you  not  still  remember 
The  horrid  deed,  and  what,  when  here  I  came. 
Followed  more  dreadful  ?     Fatal  nuptials,  you 
Produced  me,  you  returned  me  to  the  womb 
That  bare  me ;  thence  relations  horrible 
Of  fathers,  sons,  and  brothers  came ;  of  "svives. 
Sisters,  and  mothei's,  sad  alliance  !  all 
That  man  holds  impious  and  detestable. 
But  what  in  act  is  \^le  the  modest  tongue 
Should  never  name.     Bury  me,  hide  me,  friends. 
From  every  eye;  destroy  me,  cast  me  forth 
To  the  wide  .ocean — let  me  perish  there  : 
Do  anything  to  shake  off  hated  life. 
Seize  me ;  approach,  my  friends — you  need  not  fear, 
Polluted  though  I  am,  to  touch  me  ;  none 
Shall  suffer  for  my  crimes  but  I  alone. 


CEDTPUS  TYRANNUS.  263 

CiiOR.  In  most  fit  time,  my  lord,  the  noble  Creon 
This  way  advances  ;  he  can  best  determine 
A.nd  best  advise ;  sole  guardian  now  of  Thebes, 
To  him  thy  power  devolves. 

CEdi.  What  shall  I  sayl 

Can  I  apply  to  him  for  aid  whom  late 
I  deeply  injured  by  unjust  suspicion  % 


Scene  III. 
Creon,  (Edipus,  Chorus. 

Creon,  I  come  not,  prince,  to  triumph  o'er  thy  woes 
With  vile  reproach ;  I  pity  thy  misfortunes. 
But,  O  my  Thebans  !  if  you  do  not  fear 
The  censure  of  your  fellow-citizens, 
At  least  respect  the  all-creating  eye 
Of  Phoebus,  who  beholds  you  thus  exposing 
To  public  view  a  wretch  accursed,  polluted, 
Whom  neither  earth  can  bear,  nor  sun  behold, 
Nor  holy  shower  besprinkle.     Take  hira  hence 
Within  the  palace ;  those  who  are  by  blood 
United  should  alone  be  witnesses 
Of  such  calamity. 

(Edi.  O  Creon  !  thou, 

The  best  of  men,  and  I  the  worst,  how  kind 
Thou  art  to  visit  me  !     Oh  !  by  the  gods 
Let  me  entreat  thee,  since  beyond  my  hopes 
Thou  art  so  good,  now  hear  me  ;  what  I  ask, 
Concerns  thee  most. 

Creon.  What  is  it  thou  desirest 

Thus  ardently  % 

CEdi.  I  beg  thee,  banish  me 

From  Thebes  this  moment,  to  some  land  remote, 
Wliere  I  may  ne'er  converse  with  man  again. 

Creon.  Myself  long  since  had  done  it,  but  the  gods 
Must  be  consulted  first. 

OEdi.  Their  \vill  is  known 

Already,  and  their  oracle  declared 
The  guilty  parricide  should  die. 


•64 


(EDI PUS  TYRANNUS. 


Creon.  It  hatli ; 

But,  as  it  is,  'twere  better  to  inquire 
What  must  be  done. 

CEdi.  For  such  a  wretch  as  me 

Wouldst  tliou  again  explore  the  will  of  Heaven  1 

Creon.  Thy  hapless  fate  should  teach  us  to  believe, 
And  reverence  the  gods. 

(Edi.  Now,  Creon,  list; 

I  l)Og  thee,  I  conjure  thee,  let  a  tomb 
Be  raised,  and  all  due  honours  paid  to  her 
Who  lies  within  :  she  was  thy  sister,  Creon  ; 
It  is  a  duty  which  thou  ow'st :  for  me, 
I  cannot  hope  this  city  now  will  deign 
To  keep  me  here.     0  Creon  !  let  me  go, 
And  seek  the  solitary  mountain's  top, 
My  own  Cith?eron,  by  my  parents  doomed 
Long  since  to  be  the  grave  of  CEdipus ; 
Where  would  I  die,  as  they  decreed  I  should. 
Alas !  I  cannot,  must  not  perish  yet, 
Till  I  have  suffered  evils  worse  than  death, 
For  I  was  only  saved  to  be  unhappy ; 
But  I  must  meet  my  fate,  whate'er  it  be. 
My  sons  are  men,  and  wheresoever  fortune 
May  place  them,  cannot  want  the  means  of  life ; 
They  shall  not  burthen  thee  ;  but,  O  my  friend  ! 
What  will  become  of  my  unhappy  daughters, 
With  tenderest  love,  beneath  a  father's  hand, 
Cherished  so  long  ?     Oh  !  take  them  to  thy  care, 
Thou  best  of  men  !     Oh  !  might  I  but  embrace  them, 
But  shed  a  tear  o'er  their  disastrous  fate, 
Might  I  be  suffered  but  to  touch  them  here, 
I  should  rejoice,  and  think  I  saw  them  still. 
But  hark  !  methinks  e'en  now  I  hear  the  voice 
Of  my  dear  daughters ;  hath  the  gracious  Creon, 
In  pity  to  my  woes,  already  brought 
My  children  to  me  1 — is  it  so  ? 

Creon.  It  is : 

Thy  wishes  are  prevented ;  they  are  here. 


CEDIPUS  TYRANNUS.  265 

Scene  IV. 

Daughters  of  (Edipus,  (Edipus,  Ceeon,  Chorus. 

OEdi.  May  Heaven  reward  thee  for  this  goodness  to 
me, 
And  give  thee  much  more  bliss  than  I  have  known ! 
Now,  my  dear  children,  come  towards  me,  come 
Towards  your  father  and  your — brother ;  see 
These  sightless  eyes,  pierced  by  my  own  mad  hands ; 
Behold  that  wretched  father  who  begat  you 
Unknowingly  on  her  who  gave  me  birth  ; 
I  cannot  see  you  now — I  can  but  weep 
Your  fate,  to  think  what  hours  of  wretchedness 
You  have  to  know  hereafter.     Whither  now 
Must  my  poor  children  lly  %     From  every  feast 
Joyless  with  grief  and  shame,  shall  you  return  ; 
And  when  the  time  shall  come  when  riper  years 
Should  give  you  to  the  nuptial  bed,  who  then, 
Careless  of  fame,  will  let  his  child  partake 
The  infamy  of  my  abhorred  race. 
Sprung  from  a  wretch  accursed,  who  killed  his  father, 
And  from  the  womb  that  bare  him  did  beget 
You  my  unhappy  daughters  ?    Such  reproach 
Must  still  be  yours,  to  virgin  solitude 
Devoted  ever,  and  a  barren  bed. 
Son  of  Menaeceus,  thou  alone  art  left 
Their  father  now,  for,  oh  !  Jocasta  's  dead, 
And  T  am — nothing.     Do  not  then  forsake 
Thy  kindred  ;  nor,  deserted  and  forlorn. 
Suffer  them  still  in  penury  and  woe 
To  wander  helpless,  in  their  tender  age : 
Kemember  they  have  no  support  but  thee. 
O  generous  prince  !  have  pity  on  them  ;  give  me 
Thy  friendly  hand  in  promise  of  thy  aid. 
To  you,  my  daughters,  had  your  early  years 
Permitted,  I  had  given  my  last  advice  : 
Too  young  for  counsel,  all  I  ask  of  you 
Is  but  to  pray  the  gods  that  my  sad  life 


266 


(EDIPUS  TYRANNUS. 


May  not  be  long  ;  but 


'Ours,  my  children,  crowned 
vv  iin  many  oays,  ana  happier  far  than  mine. 

Creon.  It  is  enough;  go  in — thy  grief  transports  thee 
Beyond  all  bounds. 

(Edi.  'Tis  hard  ;  but  I  submit. 

Creon.  The  time  demands  it ;  therefore  go. 

(Edi.  O  Creon ! 

Knowst  thou  what  now  I  wish  ? 

Creon.  What  is  it  ?     Speak, 

(Edi.  That  I  may  quit  this  fatal  place. 

Creon.  Thou  ask'st 

What  Heaven  alone  can  grant. 

(Edi.  Alas !  to  Heaven 

I  am  most  hateful. 

Creon.  Yet  shalt  thou  obtain 

What  thou  desirest. 

GEui.  Shall  I  indeed  ? 

Creon.  Thou  shalt ; 

I  never  say  aught  that  I  do  not  mean. 

(Edi.  Then  let  me  go  :  may  I  depart  ? 

Creon.  Thou  mayst  • 

But  leave  thy  children. 

(Edi.  Do  not  taks  them  from  me. 

Creon.  Thou  mu^t  not  always  have  thy  will.    Already 
Thou  'st  suffered  for  it. 

Chor.  Thebans,  now  behold 

The  great,  the  mighty  (Edipus,  who  once 
The  Sphinx's  dark  enigma  could  unfold. 
Who  less  to  fortune  than  to  wisdom  owed, 
In  virtue  as  in  rank  to  all  superior, 
Yet  fallen  at  last  to  deepest  misery. 
Let  mortals  hence  be  taught  to  look  beyond 
The  present  time,  nor  dare  to  say,  a  man 
Is  happy  till  the  last  decisive  hour 
Shall  close  his  life  without  the  taste  of  woe. 


QEdipus  Coloneus. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


(Edipcis, 

Creon. 

Antigone,    \  Daughters  of 

ISMENE,         j      (Edipus. " 

POLYNTCES,  Son  of  (Edipus. 

Theseus,  King  of  Athens. 


An  Athenian. 

Messenger. 

Attendants  on  Oreon,  Thesens, 

and  Ismcm. 
Chorus,  composed  of  Ancient 

Men  of  Thebes. 


SCENE.— ^  Gh-ove  at  the  entrance  to  the  Temple  of  the  Furies. 


ACT   I. 

Scene    I. 
OEdipus,  Antigone. 


(Edipus.  Where  are  we  now,  my  dear  Antigone  ? 
Knowst  thou  the  place  ?     Will  any  here  afford 
Their  scanty  alms  to  a  poor  wanderer, 
The  banished  (Edipus  1     I  ask  not  much. 
Yet  less  receive  ;  but  I  am  satisfied  : 
Long  time  hath  made  my  woes  familiar  to  me, 
And  I  have  learned  to  bear  calamity. 
But  tell  me,  daughter,  if  thou  seest  a  place, 
Or  sacred,  or  profane,  where  I  may  rest, 
There  set  me  down,  from  some  inhabitant 
A  chance  but  we  may  learn  where  now  we  are, 
And  act,  so  strangers  ought,  as  he  directs  us, 


268  (EDIPUS  COLONEUS, 

Ant.  O  G^dipus  !  my  poor,  unliappy  fatlier, 
Far  as  my  eyes  can  reach  I  see  a  city, 
With  lofty  turrets  crowned,  and,  if  I  err  not, 
This  place  is  sacred,  by  the  laurel  shade 
Olive  and  vine  thick-planted,  and  the  songs 
Of  nightingales  sweet  warbling  through  the  grove 
Here  sit  thee  down,  and  rest  thy  wearied  limbs 
On  this  rude  stone ;  'tis  a  long  way  for  age 
Like  thine  to  travel. 

CEdi.  Place  me  here,  and  guard 

A  sightless  wretch. 

Ant.  Alas  !  at  such  a  time 

Thou  needst  not  tell  Antigone  her  duty. 

CEdi.  Knowst  thou  not  where  we  are  ? 

Ant.  As  I  have  learned 

From  passing  travellers,  not  far  from  Athens ; 
The  place  I  know  not ;  would  you  that  I  go 
And  straight  inquire  ?  But  now  I  need  not  leave  thee, 
i^'or,  lo  !  a  stranger  comes  this  way,  e'en  now 
He  stands  before  you,  he  will  soon  inform  us. 


Scene  II. 

An  Athenian,  QiIdipus,  Antigone. 

CEdi.  Stranger,  thou  com'st  in  happy  hour  to  tell  us 
What  much  we  wish  to  know ;  let  me  then  ask  thee- 


Athe.  Ask  nothing ;  speak  not  till  thou  art  removed 
From  off  that  hallowed  spot  where  now  thou  standst, 
By  human  footsteps  not  to  be  profaned. 

(Edi.  To  whom  then  is  it  sacred  % 

Athe.  'Tis  a  place 

Where  but  to  tread  is  impious,  and  to  dwell 
Forbidden  ;  where  the  dreadful  goddesses, 
Daughters  of  Earth  and  Night,  alone  inhabit. 

(Edi.  Ha  !  let  me  hear  their  venerable  names. 

Athe.  By  other  names  in  other  climes  adored, 
The  natives  here  call  them  Eumenides, 
Th'  all-seeing  powers. 

(Edi.  Oh  !  that  they  would  but  smile 


CEDIPUS  COLONEUS,  269 

Propitious,  and  receive  a  suppliant's  prayer, 
That  I  might  never  leave  this  blest  abode ! 

Athe.  What  dost  thou  mean  % 

CEdi.  It  suits  my  sorrows  well. 

Athe.  I  must  inform  the  citizens ;  till  then 
Remain, 

CEdi.       Oh  !  do  not  scorn  a  wretched  exile, 
But  tell  me,  stranger 

Athe.  Speak ;  I  scorn  thee  not. 

CEdi.  What  place  is  this  ? 

Athe.  I'll  tell  thee  what  I  know. 

This  place  is  sacred  all :  great  Neptune  here 
Presides,  and  he  who  bears  the  living  fire, 
Titan  Prometheus ;  where  thou  treadst  is  called 
The  Brazen  Way,  the  bulwark  of  our  State  : 
From  this  equestrian  hill,  their  safest  guard, 
The  neighbouring  villagers  their  general  name 
Derive,  thence  called  Colonians  all. 

CEdi.  But  say, 

Are  there  who  dwell  here,  then  ? 

Athe.  There  are,  and  called 

From  him  they  worship. 

CEdi.         .  Is  the  power  supreme 

Lodged  in  the  people's  voice,  or  in  the  king  % 

Athe.  'Tis  in  the  king. 

CEdi.  Who  is  he  % 

Athe.  Theseus,  son 

Of  uEgeus,  their  last  sovereign. 

CEdi.  Who  will  go 

And  tell  him 

Athe.  What !  to  come  and  meet  thee  here  1 

CEdi.  To  tell  him  that  a  little  help  bestowed 
Would  amply  be  repaid. 

Athe.  Why,  what  couldst  thou  do. 

Dark  as  thou  art  ? 

CEdi.  My  words  will  not  be  so. 

Athe.  Then  mark  me,,  that  thou  err  not ;  for  to  me 
Thy  fortunes  seem  ill-suited  to  thy  nature, 
Which  is  most  noble ;  therefore  stay  thou  here 
Till  I  return  ;  I  will  not  go  to  Athens, 
But  ask  these  villagers,  who  sojourn  here, 
J f thou  mayst  stay.  \^Exit  Athenian. 


(EDIPUS  COLONEUS. 


Scene  III. 
CEdipus,  Antigone. 

(Edi.  My  daughter,  is  he  gone  ? 

Ant.  He  is,  and  thou  mayst  safely  speak,  for  I 
Alone  am  with  thee. 

(Edi.  Goddesses  revered  ! 

Since  in  your  seats  my  wearied  steps  have  found 
Their  first  I'epose,  not  inauspicious  smile 
On  Phoebus  and  on  me  !     For  know,  the  god 
Who  'gainst  unhappy  (Edipus  denounced 
Unnumbered  woes,  foretold  that  here  at  last 
I  should  liave  rest,  within  this  hallowed  grove 
These  hospitable  shades,  and  finish  here 
A  life  of  misery  :  happy  those,  he  said. 
Who  should  receive  me,  glorious  their  reward, 
And  woe  to  them  who  strove  to  drive  me  hence 
Inhuman.     This  he  promised  to  confirm 
By  signs  undoubted  ;  thunder,  or  the  sound 
Of  dreadful  earthquake,  or  the  lightning's  blast 
Launched  from  the  arm  of  Jove.    I  doubt  it  not, 
From  you  some  happy  omen  hither  led 
My  prosperous  steps,  that  first  to  you  I  came 
Pure  to  the  pure  ]  and  here  on  this  rude  seat 
Reposed  me,  could  not  be  the  work  of  chance ; 
Wherefore,  ye  powers  !  as  Phoebus  hath  decreed, 
Here  let  me  find  a  period  of  my  woes, 
Here  end  my  wi^etched  life  !  unless  the  man, 
Who  long  hath  groaned  beneath  the  bitterest  ills 
That  mortals  feel,  still  seem  to  merit  more. 
Daughters  of  Ancient  Night !  oh,  hear  me  now  ! 
And  thou,  from  great  Minerva  called,  the  best 
And  noblest  city,  Athens  !  pity  me, 
Pity  the  shadow  of  poor  CEdipus ; 
For,  oh  !  I  am  not  what  I  was. 

Ant.  No  more : 

Behold  a  venerable  band  approach 
Of  ancient  natives,  come  perchance  to  seek  thee. 

OEdi,  I've  done  ;  Antigone,  remove  me  hence. 


CEDIPUS  COLON E(JS.  271 

And  hide  me  in  tlie  grove  till  by  their  words, 
Listening.  1  learn  their  purpose ;  such  foreknowledge 
Will  best  direct  us  how  to  act  hereafter.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  IV. 

Chor.  Where  is  he  %    Look,  examine,  search  around 
For  this  abandoned  exile,  of  mankind 
The  most  profane  ;  doubtless  some  wretched  stranger. 
Who  else  had  dared  on  this  forbidden  soil 
To  tread,  where  dwell  the  dreadful  deities 
We  tremble  e'en  to  name,  and  as  we  pass 
Dare  not  behold,  but  silently  revere, 
Or  soft  with  words  of  fairest  omen  greet  % 
Of  these  regardless,  here  we  come  to  find 
An  impious  wretch.     I  look  around  the  grove, 
But  still  he  lurks  unseen. 


Scene  V. 
CEdipus,  Antigone,  Chorus. 

OEdi.  Behold  me  here  ; 

For  by  your  words  I  find  you  look  for  me. 

Chor.  \looki71g  steadfastly  at  him\  Dreadful  his  voice 
and  terrible  his  aspect ! 

(Edi.  I  am  no  outlaw ;  do  not  look  thus  on  me. 

Chor.  Jove  the  defender  !  who  is  this  old  man  ? 

CEdi.  One  on  whom  fortune  little  hath  bestowed 
To  call  for  reverence  from  you  ;  that,  alas  ! 
Is  but  too  plain  ;  thus  by  another's  eyes 
Conducted  here,  and  on  her  aid  depending. 
Old  as  I  am. 

Chor.  Alas  !  and  wert  thou  born 

Thus  sightless  %    Full  of  sorrow  and  of  years 
Indeed  thou  seemst ;  but  do  not  let  on  us 
Thy  curse  devolve.     Thou  hast  transgressed  the  bounds 
Prescribed  to  mortals ;  shun  this  hallowed  grove, 


^72 


AVliere  on  the  grassy  surface  to  the  powere 
A  welcome  ottering  flows  with  honc^y  mixed 
The  limpid  stream  ;  unhappy  stranger,  lienco, 
Away,  begone  !    Thou  seest  'tis  a  long  space 
Divides  us  :  dost  thou  hear  me,  wretched  exile  ? 
This  instiint,  if  thou  dost,  depart,  then  speak, 
But  not  before. 

CEdi.  Antigone,  my  daughter, 

What's  to  be  done  1 

Ant.  Obey  the  citizens ; 

Give  me  thy  hand. 

(Edi.  I  will ;  and  now,  my  friends. 

Confiding  thus  in  you,  and  thus  removing 
As  you  directed,  let  me  not  be  injured. 

Chor.  Thou  shalt  not ;  be  assured  that  thou  art  safe ; 
None  shall  offend  or  drive  thee  hence. 

CEdi.  Yet  more 

Must  I  approach  ? 

Chor.  A  little  farther  still. 

(Edi.  Will  this  suffice  1 

Chor.  Remove  him  this  way,  virgin  ; 

Thou  hearst  us. 

Ant,  Thou  must  follow  me,  my  father, 

Weak  as  thou  art ;  we  are  unhappy  strangers, 
And  must  submit ;  whate'er  the  city  hates 
Content  to  hate,  and  what  she  loves  to  love. 

CEdi.  Lead  me,  my  daughter,  to  some  hallowed  spot 
For  mutual  converse  fit,  nor  let  us  strive 
With  dire  necessity. 

Chor.  Stop  there,  nor  move 

Beyond  that  stone. 
■  7^  Di.  Thus,  then  ? 

Chor. 

CEdi.  Where  should  I  sit? 

Chor.  A  little  forward  lean. 

And  rest  thee  there. 

Ant.  [takioig  hold  of  hwi].  Alas  !  *tis  my  sad  office — 
Let  me  perform  it — to  direct  thy  steps ; 
To  this  loved  hand  commit  thy  aged  limbs ; 
t  will  be  careful  [She  seats  him  oil  the  8t07ie. 

CEdi.  O  unh^npy  State  ! 


It  is  enough. 


CEDIPUS  COLONEUS.  273 

Chor.  Now,  wretched  stranger,  tell  us  who  thou  art, 
Thy  country,  and  thy  name. 

CEdi.                                         Alas  !  my  lords, 
A  poor  abandoned  exile;  but,  oh  !  do  not 

Chor.  What  sayst  thou  ? 

CEdi.  Do  not  ask  me  who  I  am  ; 

Inquire  no  farther. 

Chor.  Wherefore  ? 

CEdi.  My  sad  race 

Chor.  Speak  on. 

(Edi.  [turning  to  Antigone].  My  daughter,  how  shall 
I  proceed  ? 

Chor.  Thy  race,  thy  father 

GEdi.  O  Antigone  ! 

What  do  I  suffer? 

Ant.  Speak  ;  thou  canst  not  be 

More  wretched  than  thou  art. 

OEdi.  I  will ;  for,  oh  ! 

It  cannot  be  concealed. 

Chor.  You  do  delay ; 

Inform  us  straight. 

CEdi.  Know  you  the  son  of  Laius  ? 

Chor.  Alas ! 

CEdi.  The  race  of  Labdacus. 

Chor.  O  Jove ! 

CEdi.  Th'  unhappy  CEdipus. 

Chor.  And  art  thou  he  1 

CEdi.  Be  not  affrighted  at  my  words. 

Chor.  0  Heaven ! 

CEdi.  Wretch  that  I  am  !  what  will  become  of  me  ? 

Chor.  Away,  begone,  fly  from  this  place  ! 

CEdi.  Then  where 

Are  all  your  promises  ?  are  they  forgotten  ? 

Chor.  Justice  divine  will  never  punish  those 
Who  but  repay  the  injury  they  receive ; 
And  fraud  doth  merit  fraud  for  its  reward. 
Wherefore,  begone,  and  leave  us,  lest  once  more 
Our  city  be  compelled  to  force  thee  hence. 

Ant.  O  my  kind  friends  !  as  you  revere  the  name 
Of  virtue,  though  you  will  not  hear  the  prayers 
Of  my  unhappy  father,  worn  with  age 


274 


(ED2PUS  COLONEUS. 


And  laden  with  involuntary  crimes  ; 

Yet  hear  the  daughter  pleading  for  her  sire, 

And  pity  her  who  with  no  evil  eye 

Beholds  you,  but,  as  one  of  the  same  race, 

Born  of  one  common  father,  here  entreats 

Your  mercy  to  th'  unhappy,  for  on  you, 

As  on  some  god  alone,  we  must  rely  ; 

Then  grant  this  wished-for  boon — oh  !  gi'ant  it  now, 

By  all  that's  dear  to  thee,  thy  sacred  word, 

Thy  interest,  thy  children,  and  thy  god ; 

'Tis  not  in  mortals  to  avoid  the  crime 

Which  Heaven  hath  pre-ordained. 

Chor.  We  pity  thee, 

Daughter  of  (Edipus ;  we  pity  him, 
And  his  misfortunes  ;  but  of  wrath  divine 
Still  fearful,  dare  not  alter  our  decree. 

(Edi.  Now  who  shall  trust  to  glory  and  fair  fame  ? 
What  shall  it  profit  that  your  pious  city 
Was  once  for  hospitable  rites  renowned, 
That  she  alone  w  ould  pity  and  relieve 
The  afflicted  stranger  ?    Is  she  so  to  me 
Who  drives  me  hence,  and  trembles  at  a  name  % 
Me  you  can  never  fear,  and  for  my  crimes 
I  am  the  sufferer,  not  the  offender.     What 
Touching  my  father  I  have  spoke,  alas  ! 
If  'tis  for  that  you  do  abhor  me  thus, 
Was  I  to  blame  %     The  injury  received 
I  but  repaid,  and  therefore  had  I  known 
The  crime  I  acted,  I  wxre  guiltless  still. 
Whither  I  came,  I  came  unknowingly; 
Not  so  they  acted  who  have  banished  me. 
By  your  commands  already  here  removed. 
Oh  !  by  the  gods,  preserve,  assist  me  now  ; 
If  you  revere  them,  do  not  thus  despise 
What  they  decree ;  their  eyes  behold  tlie  goo*^ 
And  view  the  evil  man,  nor  shall  the  wicked 
Escape  their  wrath  ;  use  not  theit*  sacred  names 
To  cover  crimes  and  stain  the  fame  of  Athens. 
As  you  received  the  suppliant,  oh !  remember 
Your  plighted  faith — preserve  me,  save  me  now ! 
Look  not  contemptuous  on  this  wretched  form, 


CEDIPUS  COLONEUS.  275 

Or  cast  reproach  unmerited ;  I  come 

Nor  impious,  nor  profane,  and  with  me  bring 

To  Athens  much  of  profit  and  renown, 

As  when  your  king  arrives,  you  all  shall  know : 

Meantime  despise  me  not. 

Chor.  Old  man,  thy  words 

Are  full  of  weight,  and  merit  our  observance ; 
If  those  who  here  preside  but  know  thy  purpose, 
It  doth  suffice. 

CEdi.  But  say,  where  is  the  king  % 

Chor.  Within  his  palace,  but  a  messenger 
Is  gone  to  fetch  him  hither. 

CEdi.  O  my  friends  ! 

Think  you  a  sightless  wretch  like  me  wdll  move 
His  pity  or  his  care,  that  he  will  come  ? 

Chor.  Most  readily,  when  he  shall  hear  the  name 
Of  CEdipus. 

O^Di.  And  who  shall  tell  it  him  1 

Chor.  The  journey's  long,  but  passing  travellers 
Will  catch  the  tale,  and  he  must  hear  it  soon ; 
Fear  not,  thy  story  is  already  known 
On  every  side;  'twill  quicken  his  slow  steps. 
And  bring  him  instant  hither. 

CEdi.  May  he  come 

In  happy  hour  to  Athens  and  to  me ! 
He  will ;  what  good  man  doth  not  love  his  country  ? 

Ant.  0  Jove  !  what  shall  I  say  or  think  ?    My 
father 

CEdi.  What  says  my  daughter  ? 

Ant.  This  way  bent,  behold 

On  a  Sicilian  steed,  a  woman  comes. 
Her  face  concealed  by  a  Thessalian  veil, 
To  shield  her  from  the  sun  :  am  I  deceived, 
Or  is  it  she  %     I  know  not  what  to  think. 
It  is  my  sister,  now  she  smiles  upon  me  ; 
It  must,  it  can  be  none  but  my  Ismene. 

CEdi.  Who,  my  Antigone  ? 

Ant.  It  is  thy  daughter, 

My  sister,  but  her  voice  will  soon  convince  you, 


27<5 


(EDIPUS  COLONEUS, 


Scene  VI. 

ISMENE  AND  ATTENDANT,  (EdIPUS,  AnTIGONE,  ChORUS* 

Ism.  O  the  sweet  sounds  !  a  father  and  a  sister ! 
What  pains  have  I  not  suffered  in  the  search  ! 
And  now  for  grief  can  scarce  behold  you. 

(Edi.  Oh ! 

My  daughter,  art  thou  here  1 

Ism.  Alas !  my  father, 

How  terribly  thou  lookst! 

(Edi.  From  the  same  blood 

The  father  and  the  daughter. 

IsM.  Wretched  race ! 

(Edi.  And  art  thou  oome,  my  daughter  1 

IsM.  I  have  reached  thee 

With  toil  and  labour. 

(Edi.  Touch  me,  0  my  child  ! 

IsM.  Let  me  embrace  you  both. 

(Edi.  Both  miserable ! 

Ism.  Join  then  a  third  as  wretched  as  yourselves. 

\They  all  embrace. 

(Edi.  Ismene,  wherefore  art  thou  come  ? 

IsM.  My  care 

For  thee,  my  father,  brought  me  here. 

(Edi.  For  me  ? 

IsM.  That  I  might  speak  to  thee ;  this  faithful  slave 
Alone  conducted  me.  [Pointing  to  her  Attendant. 

(Edi.  Thy  brothers,  say. 

What  are  they  doing  ? 

IsM.  They  are — what  they  are ; 

For,  oh  !  between  them  deadliest  discord  reigns. 

(Edi.  How  like  th'  unmanly  sons  of  Egypt's  clime, 
Where  the  men  sit  inglorious  at  the  loom, 
And  to  their  wives  leave  each  domestic  care ! 
E'en  thus  my  sons,  who  should  have  laboured  for  me. 
Like  women  idly  sit  at  home,  whilst  you 
Perform  their  office,  and  with  fihal  care 
Attend  a  wretched  father.     This  kind  maid, 

[pointing  to  Antigone 
E'en  from  her  infant  days,  hath  wandered  long 


QLDIPUS  COLONEUS.  277 

An  exile  with  me,  and  supported  still 

My  feeble  age ;  oft  through  the  savage  woods, 

Naked  and  hungry,  by  the  wintry  storms 

Or  scorching  heats  afflicted,  led  me  on. 

And  gave  me  food,  unmindful  of  her  own. 

Thou  too,  Ismene,  wert  my  faithful  guard 

When  I  was  driven  forth ;  and  now  art  come 

To  tell  thy  father  what  the  gods  declare ; 

A  stranger  now  to  Thebes,  I  know  not  what 

Hath  passed  between  them ;  thou  hast  some  sad  news, 

I  know  thou  hast,  to  tell  thy  wretched  father. 

Ism.  What  I  have  suffered  in  the  search  of  thee 
I  pass  in  silence  o'er,  since  to  repeat 
Were  but,  alas !  to  double  my  misfortunes  ; 
I  only  came  to  tell  thee  the  sad  fate 
Of  thy  unhappy  sons.     Awhile  they  seemed 
As  if  they  meant  to  yield  the  throne  to  Creon, 
Nor  stain  their  guilty  hands  with  Theban  blood, 
Mindful  of  that  pollution  which  remained 
On  thy  devoted  race  ;  but  now  some  god 
Or  their  own  wicked  minds  have  raised  a  flame 
Of  dire  contention,  which  shall  gain  the  power 
Supreme,  and  reign  in  Thebes.     Eteocles 
Hath  drove  his  elder  Polynices  forth, 
Who,  now  an  exile,  seeks  (as  fame  reports) 
The  Argians,  and  in  solemn  contract  joined 
With  these  his  new  allies  would  raise  their  fame 
Above  the  stars,  and  sink  our  Thebes  in  ruin. 
These  are  not  words  alone — 'tis  now  in  act, 
Alas !  e'en  now  I  fear,  nor  know  I  when 
The  gods  will  take  compassion  on  thy  woes. 

(Edi.  Hast  thou  no  hope  they'll  pity  me  ? 

Ism.  I  have ; 

Their  oracles  have  said  it. 

(Edi.  Ha !  said  what  % 

My  daughter,  tell  me,  what  have  they  declared  ? 

Ism.  The  time  would  come,  they  said,  when  Thebes 
once  more 
Must  seek  thee,  dead  or  living,  for  her  safety. 

CEdi.  Why,  what  could  such  a  wretch  as  I  do  for 
them? 


27S 


(ED  IP  US  CO  LONE  US, 


Ism.  Their  only  hope,  they  say,  is  placed  in  thee. 

(TiDi.  I,  that  am  nothing,  grown  so  powerful !  Whenf  < 
Can  it  proceed  1 

Ism.  The  gods,  who  once  depressed  thee, 

Now  raise  thee  up  again. 

(Edi.  It  cannot  be  ] 

Who  falls  in  youth  will  never  rise  in  ago. 

Ism.  Ivnow,  for  this  very  purpose  Creon  comes ; 
Ere  long  thou  mayst  expect  him. 

CEdi.  What  to  do, 

My  daughter  ? 

ISM.  To  remove  thee  hence,  and  place  thee 

Nearer  to  Thebes,  but  not  within  her  borders. 

(Edi.  If  not  within,  what  profit  can  it  be 
To  them  1 

Ism.  Thy  tomb,  raised  in  a  foreign  land, 

They  fear  would  prove  most  fatal. 

CEni.  But  how  know  they 

[t  must  be  so,  unless  some  god  declared  it  ? 

Ism.  For  this  alone  they  wish  to  have  thee  near 
The  borders,  in  their  power,  and  not  thy  own, 

(Edi.  To  bury  me  at  Thebes  ? 

Ism.  That  cannot  be ; 

Thy  crime  forbids  it. 

(Edi.  Then  I'll  never  go.  [ance. 

Ism.  a  time  will  come  when  they  shall  feel  thy  venge- 

(Edi.  What  strange  vicissitude  can  e'er  produce 
This  wished  event  ? 

Ism.  Thy  wrath,  when  at  thy  tomb 

They  shall  be  forced  to  meet. 

(Edi.  Who  told  thee  this  ? 

Ismene,  say. 

Ism.  The  sacred  ministers 

Of  Delphos. 

CEdi.  Came  it  from  Apollo's  shrine  ? 

IsM.  On  their  return  to  Thebes  they  did  report  it. 

(Edi.  My  sons,  did  they  hear  aught  of  this  ? 

Ism.  Both  heard. 

And  know  it  well. 

(Edi.  Yet,  impious  as  they  are, 

|*referred  a  kingdom  to  their  father's  love, 


CEDIPUS  COLONEUS. 


279 


Ism.  With  grief  I  tell  thee  what  with  grief  I  heard. 

CEdi.  Oh  !  may  the  gods  doom  them  to  endless  strife ; 
Ne'er  may  the  battle  cease  till  CEdipus 
Himself  shall  end  it ;  then,  nor  he  who  bears 
The  sceptre  now,  should  long  maintain  the  throne, 
Nor  Polynices  e'er  to  Thebes  return ; 
They  should  not  live  who  drove  a  parent  forth 
To  misery  and  exile,  left  by  those 
Who  should  have  loved,  supported,  and  revered  him ; 
I  know  they  say  the  city  but  complied 
With  my  request — I  asked  for  banishment ; 
Not  then  I  asked  it.     In  my  desperate  mind, 
When  first  I  raged,  I  wished  indeed  for  death ; 
It  had  been  grateful  then,  but  no  kind  friend 
Would  minister  the  boon.     At  length  my  grief 
Gave  way,  and  when  they  saw  my  troubled  soul 
Had  taken  ample  vengeance  on  itself. 
After  long  stay,  the  city  drove  me  forth  ; 
And  those  who  could  have  saved  me,  my  base  sons, 
Deaf  to  a  father's  prayers,  permit  me  still 
To  roam  abroad  in  poverty  and  exile. 
From  these  alone,  far  as  their  tender  sex 
Can  help  me,  I  receive  the  means  of  life. 
All  the  sweet  comfort,  food,  or  needful  rest 
Earth  can  afford  me  now,  whilst  to  my  sons 
A  throne  was  dearer  than  a  father's  love ; 
But  they  shall  never  gain  me  for  their  friend, 
Ne'er  reign  in  Thebes — these  oracles  declare 
They  never  shall.     I  do  remember  too 
Another  prophecy  which  Phcebus  erst 
Delivered  to  me :  let  'em  send  their  Creon, 
Or  any  other  powerful  citizen. 
To  drag  me  hence ;  my  hospitable  friends, 
If  to  those  all-protecting  deities 
Who  here  preside  you  too  will  lend  your  aid, 
Athens  shall  find  in  me  its  best  defence, 
And  vengeance  strike  the  foes  of  CEilipus. 

Chor.  Thou  and  thy  daughters  well  deserve  our  pity 
And,  for  thy  words  are  full  of  promised  good 
To  our  loved  city,  I  will  tell  thee  all 
'Tis  meet  thou  shouldst  perform. 


i8o 


(EDIPUS  COLONEUS. 


CEdi.  My  best  of  friends, 

Instruct  me ;  I  am  ready  to  obey. 

CiiOR.  An  expiation  instant  must  thou  make 
To  the  offended  powers  whose  sacred  seat 
Thou  has  profaned. 

GCdi.  But  how  must  it  be  done? 

Chor.  First,  with  pure  hands,  from  th'  ever-flowing 
spring, 
Thy  due  libations  pour. 

CEdi.  What  follows  then? 

Chor.  Take  thou  a  cup  wrought  by  some  skilful  hand, 
Bind  it  \vith  wreaths  around. 

CEdi.     •  Of  leaves  or  threads 

Composed  ? 

Chor.         Of  wool,  fresh  from  the  new-shorn  lamb. 

CEdi.  Is  there  aught  else  ? 

Chor.  Then,  turning  to  the  sun, 

Make  thy  libations. 

CEdi.  From  the  cup,  thou  sayst, 

Chor.  The  water  from  three  fountains  drawn ;  and 
last 
Remember,  none  be  left. 

CEdi.  With  that  alone 

Must  it  be  filled  ? 

Chor.                   Water  with  honey  mixed — 
No  wine ;  this  pour  on  th'  earth 

(Edi.  What  then  remains? 

Chor.  Take  in  thy  hand  of  olive-boughs  thrice  nine. 
And  offering  these,  begin  thy  humble  prayer. 

CEdi.  But  how  address  them  ?  That  concerns  me  near. 

Chor.  Their  name  thou  knowst  implies  benevolent : 
Intreat  them  therefore  kindly  now  to  prove 
Benevolent  to  thee ;  but,  remember, 
Low  be  the  voice  and  short  the  supplication. 
That  done,  return — be  careful  to  perform  it ; 
I  may  assist  thee  then  with  confidence, 
But  if  thou  dost  it  not,  must  tremble  for  thee. 

(Edi,  My  daughters,  heard  you  this  ? 

Ant.  We  did;  command 

What's  to  be  done. 

CEdi.  What  I  can  never  do, 


(EDI PUS  COLON RUS.  281 

Powerless  and  blind  as  I  am ;  one  of  you, 
My  daughters,  must  perform  it. 

Ant.  One  alone 

May  do  the  task  of  many  when  the  mind 
Is  active  in  it. 

CEdi.  Hence  then,  quick,  away  ! 

But  do  not  leave  me  here  alone.     These  limbs 
Without  a  guide  will  never  find  their  way. 

Ism.  Father,  I  go ;  but  how  to  find  the  place 
I  know  not. 

Chor.  Stranger,  t'  other  side  of  the  grove ; 

There,  some  inhabitant  will  soon  inform  thee, 
If  thou  shouldst  want  assistance  or  instruction. 

Ism.  Meantime,  Antigone,  remain  thou  here. 
And  guard  our  father  well :  cares  are  not  cares 
When  we  endure  them  for  a  parent's  sake. 

\Exit  ISMENE. 


Scene  YII. 
(Edipus,  Antigone,  Chorus. 

Chor.  Stranger,  albeit  we  know  'tis  most  ungrateful 
To  raise  the  sad  remembrance  of  past  woes. 
Yet  would  we  gladly  hear 

(Edi.  What  wouldst  thou  know  ? 

Chor.  The  cause  of  thy  unhappy  state, 

GEdi.  Alas ! 

By  all  the  sacred  hospitable  rites, 
I  beg  thee  do  not  ask  me  to  reveal  it ; 
My  crimes  are  horrible. 

Chor.  Already  fame 

Hath  spread  them  wide,  and  still  talks  loudly  of  them  \ 
Tell  us  the  truth. 

Q5di.  Alas ! 

Chor.  Let  me  beseech  thee ! 

OEdi.  0  me 

Chor.  Comply :  ask  what  thou  wilt  of  me, 

And  thou  shalt  have  it. 

CEiy  I  have  suifered  muchj 


?82  (EDI r us  COLONKUS. 

The  gods  can  witness  'twas  against  my  will 
t. 

Knew  not  what  ? 


I  knew  not  of  it. 


Chor. 

(Edi.  The  city, 

Unknowing  too,  bound  me  in  lioiTid  nuptials. 

OnoR.  And  didst  thou  then  pollute,  as  fame  reports, 
Thy  mother's  bed  ? 

(Edi.  Oh  !  death  to  hear :  I  did. 

Here,  here  they  are. 

Chor.  Who 's  there  ? 

CEdi.  INIy  crimes  !  my  daughters  ! 

Chor.  Daughters  and  sisters  of  their  father  ?    Oh  ! 
'Tis  horrible  indeed ! 

Qi^Di.  'Tis  woe  on  woe. 

Chor.    Great  Jove  !   both  daughters  of  one  hapless 
mother ! 
What  hast  thou  suffered  ? 

(Edi.  Ills  not  io  be  borne. 

Chor.  Didst  thou  then  perpetrate  the  horrid  deed  ? 

(Edi.  Oh  no ! 

Chor.  Not  do  it  ? 

(Edi.  I  received  from  Thebes 

A  fatal  gift ;  would  I  had  never  ta'en  it ! 

Chor.  And  art  thou  not  a  murderer  too  ? 

(Edi.  What's  that 

Thou  sayst  ? 

Chor.  Thy  father 

(Edi.  Thou  add'st  grief  to  grief. 

Chor,  Didst  thou  not  murder  him  ? 

(Edi.  I  did ;  but  hear 

Chor.  Hear  what  ? 

(Edi.  The  cause. 

Chor.  What  cause  ? 

(Edi.  I'll  tell  thee.    Know  then, 

I  murdered  others  too,  yet  by  the  laws 
I  stand  absolved ;  'twas  done  in  ignorance. 

Chor.  {seeh^  Theseus,  wJw  enters].  But  lo !  the  king, 
-(Egean  Theseus,  comes ; 
The  fame  of  thee  bath  brought  him  here  already. 


(EDIPUS  COLONEUS.  283 

Scene  YIII. 
TheseuSj  CEdipus,  Antigone,  Uiiokus. 

The.  0  son  of  Laius  !  long  ere-  this  the  tal« 

Of  thy  disastrous  fate,  by  many  a  tongue 

Related,  I  had  heard :  thy  eyes  torn  forth 

By  thy  own  desperate  hand :  and  now  I  see 

It  was  too  true.    Thy  garb  and  dreadful  aspect 

Speak  who  thou  art.     Unhappy  Qildipus, 

I  come  to  ask,  in  pity  to  thy  woes. 

What 's  thy  request  to  Athens  or  to  me — 

Thine,  or  this  hapless  virgin  on  thy  steps 

Attendant.     Speak ;  for  large  must  be  the  boon 

1  would  refuse  thee.    I  have  known  too  well, 

Myself  a  wretched  wanderer,  the  woes 

Of  cruel  exile,  not  to  pity  thine  : 

Of  toils  and  dangers  in  a  foreign  land 

Much  have  I  suffered  ;  therefore  not  to  me 

Shall  the  poor  stranger  ever  sue  in  vain 

For  aid  and  safety.     Mortals  as  we  are, 

Uncertain  ever  is  to-morrow's  fate, 

Alike  unknown  to  Theseus  and  to  thee. 

Q^Idi.  Theseus,  thy  words  declare  thy  noble  nature, 

And  leave  me  little  to  reply.     Thou  knowst 

My  story — who  and  whence  I  am ;  no  more 

Remains,  but  that  I  tell  thee  my  request, 

And  we  have  done. 

The.  Proceed  then,  and  inform  me 

G5di.  I  come  to  give  this  wretched  body  to  thee, 

To  sight  ungracious,  but  of  worth  more  dear 

To  thee  than  fairest  forms  could  boast. 

The.  What  worhih  i 

CEdi.  Hereafter  thou  slialt  know — not  now 

The.  But  when 

Shall  we  receive  it '] 

(Edi.  When  I  am  no  more 

When  thou  shalt  bury  me. 


284 


(EDIPUS  COLONEUS. 


my 


The.  Death  is,  it  seems, 

Thy  chief  concern,  and  life  not  worth  thy  cai-e. 

(Edi.  That  will  procure  me  all  the  means  of  life. 

The.  And  is  this  all  thou  ask'st,  this  little  boon  % 

OEdi.  Not  little  is  the  strife  which  shall  ensue. 

The.  What  strife  ?    With  whom — thy  children,  or 
own? 

(Edi.  Mine,  Theseus;  they  would  have  me  back  to 
Thebes. 

The.  And  wouldst  thou  rather  be  an  exile  here? 

CEdi.  Once  they  refused  me. 

The.  Anger  suits  but  ill 

With  low  estate  and  miseries  like  thine. 

QEdi.  Hear  first,  and  then  condemn  me. 

The.  Not  unheard 

All  thou  canst  urge,  would  I  reprove  thee.     Speak. 

CEdi.  O  Theseus !  I  have  borne  the  worst  of  ills. 

The.  The  curses  on  thy  race  ? 

CEdi.  Oh  no  !  all  Greece 

Hath  heard  of  them. 

The.  What  more  than  mortal  woe 

Afihcts  thee  then  ? 

CEdi.  E'en  this  :  my  cruel  sons 

Have  driven  me  from  my  country ;  nevermore 
Must  Thebes  receive  a  pariicide. 

The.  Why  then 

Recall  thee  now,  if  thou  must  ne'er  return  ? 

CEdi.  Commanded  by  an  oracle  divine. 

The.  Why,  what  doth  it  declare  ? 

CEdi. 
To  thee,  and  to  thy  arms. 

The.  But  whence  should  spring 

Such  dire  contention  ? 

CEdi.  Dearest  son  of  u3^Jgeus, 

From  age  and  death  exempt,  the  gods  alone 
Immortal  and  unchangeable  remain, 
Whilst  all  things  else  fall  by  the  hand  of  Time, 
The  universal  conqueror.     Earth  laments 
Her  fertile  powers  exhausted.     Human  strength 
Is  withered  soon.     E'en  faith  and  truth  decay, 


That  Thebes  shall  yield 


CEDIPUS  COLONEUS,  285 

And  from  their  ashes  fraud  and  falsehood  rise. 

Nor  friendship  long  from  mjtn  to  man  endures, 

Or  realm  to  realm.     To  each  successive  rise 

Bitter  and  sweet,  and  happiness  and  woe. 

Athens  and  Thebes  thou  seest  united  now, 

And  all  is  well;  but  passing  time  shall  bring 

The  fatal  day  (and  slight  will  be  the  cause) 

That  soon  shall  change  the  bonds  of  amity 

And  holy  faith,  for  feuds  and  deadliest  hate. 

Then,  buried  long  in  earth,  shall  this  cold  corse 

Drink  their  warm  blood,  which  from  the  mutual  wound 

Frequent  shall  flow.     It  must  be  as  I  tell  thee. 

If  Jove  be  Jove,  and  great  Apollo  true. 

But  why  should  I  reveal  the  fixed  decree 

Of  all-deciding  Heaven  ?     Permit  me  now 

To  end  where  I  began.     Thy  plighted  faith 

Once  more  confirm,  and  never  shalt  thou  say 

The  wretched  OEdipus  to  Theseus  came 

An  useless  and  unprofitable  guest, 

If  the  immortal  gods  have  not  deceived  me. 

Chor.  O  king  !  already  hath  this  man  declared 
The  same  goodwill  to  thee  and  to  our  country. 

Thes.  Can  I  reject  benevolence  and  love 
Like  this,  my  friends  %     Oh  no  !  the  common  rites 
Of  hospitality,  this  altar  here, 
The  witness  of  our  mutual  vows,  forbid  it ; 
He  comes  a  suppliant  to  the  goddesses, 
And  pays  no  little  tribute  both  to  me 
And  to  my  kingdom ;  he  shall  find  a  seat 
Within  my  realms,  for  I  revere  his  virtues. 
If  here  it  pleaseth  him  to  stay,  remember  \to  the  Chorus 
'Tis  my  command  you  guard  this  stranger  well ; 
If  thou  wouldsb  rather  go  with  me,  thou  mayst ; 
I  leave  it  to  thy  choice.  \To  CEdipus. 

(Edi.  Reward  them,  Jove. 

The.  What  sayst  thou  ?  wilt  thou  follow  me  % 

O^Idi.  I  would, 

If  it  were  lawful,  but  it  must  be  here — 
This  is  the  place- 


The.  For  what  ?    I'll  not  deny  thee- 


286 


EDIPUS  COLONl 


(Edi.  Where  I  mast  conquer  those  who  banished  me. 

The.  That  would  be  glory  and  renown  to  this 
Thy  place  of  refuge. 

O^Di.  If  I  may  depend 

On  thy  fair  piomise. 

The.  Fear  not,  I  shall  ne'er 

15etray  my  friend. 

CEdi.  I  will  not  bind  thee  to  it 

By  oath,  like  those  whom  we  suspect  of  ill. 

The.  Thou  needst  not,  CEdipus ;  my  word 's  my  oath. 

(Edi.  How  must  I  act  then  1 

The.  Fear'st  thou  aught  1 

(Edi.  I  do. 

A  force  will  come  against  me. 

The.  [pomting  to  the  Chorus].  Here 's  thy  guard  ; 
These  shall  protect  thee. 

(Edi.  If  thou  goest,  remember 

And  save  me,  Theseus. 

The.  Teach  not  me  my  duty. 

(Edi.  Still  am  I  fearful. 

The.  Theseus  is  not  so. 

(Edi.  Knowest  thou  not  what  they  threatened? 

The.  This  I  know, 

No  power  on  earth  shall  wrest  thee  from  this  place. 
Oftimes  the  angry  soul  will  vent  its  wrath 
In  idle  threats,  with  high  and  empty  words, 
Which  ever,  as  the  mind  is  to  itself 
Restored,  are — nothing.    They  may  boast  their  strength, 
And  say  they  '11  tear  thee  from  me  ;  but  I  tell  thee 
The  journey  would  be  long  and  tedious  to  them  ; 
They  will  not  hazard  it — they  dare  not :  therefore 
Be  comforted,  for  if  by  Phcebus  sent 
Thou  hither  cam'st,  thou'rt  safe  without  my  aid, 
E'en  if  I  leave  thee  safe ;  for  know,  the  name 
Of  Theseus  here  sufficeth  to  protect  thee. 

[Exit  Theseus. 


CEDIPUS  COLONEUS.  287 

Scene  IX. 
(Edipus,  Antigone,  Chorus 

Chorus. 


Thou  art  come  in  happy  time, 
Stranger,  to  this  blissful  clime, 
Long  for  swiftest  steeds  renowned, 
Fertilest  of  the  regions  round ; 
Where,  beneath  the  ivy  shade. 
In  the  dew-sprinkled  glade. 
Many  a  love-lorn  nightingale 
Warbles  sweet  her  plaintive  tale ; 
Where  the  vine  in  clusters  pours 
Her  sweets,  secured  from  wintry  showers 
Nor  scorching  suns,  nor  raging  storm 
The  beauties  of  the  year  deform. 

Arttistrophe  i. 

Where  the  sweet  narcissus  growing. 
Where  the  yellow  crocus  blowing, 
Round  the  sacred  altars  twine. 
Offering  to  the  powers  divine  ; 
Where  the  pure  springs  perpetual  flow^ 
Watering  the  verdant  meads  below. 
Which  with  its  earth-enriching  waves 
The  fair  Cephisus  ever  laves ; 
Where,  with  his  ever-sporting  train, 
Bacchus  wantons  on  the  plain, 
Pleased  with  the  Muses  still  to  rove, 
And  golden  Venus,  queen  of  love. 

Strophe  2. 

Alone  within  this  happy  land, 
Planted  here  by  Nature's  hand. 
Which,  nor  Asia's  fertile  plains. 
Nor  Pelops'  spacious  isle  contains, 


288  (EDIPUS  COLONEUS. 

Pallas,  thy  sacred  olive  grows, 
Striking  terror  on  our  foes  ; 
Ever  free  from  hostile  rage, 
From  wanton  youth  or  greedy  age ; 
Happy  in  sage  Minerva's  love, 
And  guarded  still  by  Morian  Jove. 

Antistrophe  2. 

But  nobler  gifts  and  fairer  fame, 

Athens,  yet  adorn  thy  name ; 

Such  wondrous  gifts  hath  poured  on  thee, 

Thy  great  protecting  deity. 

Here  first  obedient  to  command, 

Formed  by  Neptune's  skilful  hand, 

The  steed  was  taught  to  know  the  rein, 

And  bear  the  chariot  o'er  the  plain ; 

Here  first  along  the  rapid  tide 

The  stately  vessels  learned  to  ride, 

And  swifter  down  the  currents  flow 

Than  Nereids  cut  the  waves  below.  [Exeunt. 


ACT    II. 

Scene  I. 
Antigone,  OEdipus,  Chorcs. 

Antigone.  Great  are  thy  praises,  Attica,  and  now 
The  time  is  come  to  show  thou  dost  deserve  them. 

CEdi.  What  means  my  daughter  ?  Speak ;  what  new 
event 
Alarms  thee? 

Ant.  Creon,  with  a  numerous  band 

Of  followers,  comes  this  way. 

(Edi.  Oh !  now,  my  friends. 

If  ever,  help  me. 

Chor.  Fear  not ;  we'll  protect  thee. 

Though  I  am  old,  the  strength  of  Attica 
Is  not  decayed. 


(EDIPUS  COLONEUS.  289 


Scene  II. 

Creon  {li^ith  Attendants),  CEdipus,  Antigone, 
Chorus. 

Creon.  Most  honoured  citizens, 
I  see  you  look  with  eyes  of  fear  upon  me, 
Without  a  cause ;  for  know,  I  came  not  here 
Intending  aught  of  violence  or  ill 
Against  a  city  so  renowned  in  Greece 
As  yours  hath  ever  been ;  I  only  came, 
Commissioned  by  the  State  of  Thebes,  to  fetch 
This  old  man  back,  if  by  persuasion  mild 
I  could  induce  him  to  return  \  not  sent 
By  one  alone,  but  the  united  voice 
Of  a  whole  people,  who  assigned  the  task 
To  me  because,  by  blood  united  to  him, 
I  felt  for  his  misfortunes  as  my  own. 
Come  therefore,  Qlldipus,  attend  me  home ; 
Thebes  calls  thee  back,  thy  kingdom  now  demands  thee — 
By  me  she  calls  thee  ;  listen  to  thy  friend, 
For  surely  Creon  were  the  worst  of  men. 
If  he  could  look  on  woes  like  thine  unmoved 
When  I  behold  thee,  in  a  foreign  land 
A  wretched  wanderer,  forced  to  beg  thy  bread 
From  place  to  place,  with  this  unhappy  maid, 
Whom  little  did  I  think  to  see  exposed 
To  misery  and  shame,  of  nuptial  rites 
Hopeless,  and  thus  bereft  of  every  aid, — 
Oh  !  'tis  reproach  and  infamy  to  us 
And  to  our  race ;  but  'tis  already  known, 
And  cannot  be  concealed.     0  CEdipus  ! 
I  here  beseech  thee,  by  our  country's  gods, 
Return  to  Thebes  ;  bid  thou  a  kind  farewell — 
For  she  deserves  it — to  this  noble  city, 
But  still  remember  thy  own  dearer  country. 

(Edi,  Thou  daring  hypocrite,  whose  specious  wiles 
Beneath  fair  semblance  mean  but  to  betray, 
Why  wouldst  thou  tempt  me  thus?   Why  thus  once  more 

K 


fQO 


(EDTPUS  COLONEUS. 


Ensnare  me  in  thy  toils,  and  make  me  still 

More  wi-etched  than  I  am  ?    Long  time  oppressed 

By  heaviest  woes,  I  pined  within  my  palace, 

And  longed  for  exile  ;  but  you  then  refused 

To  let  nie  go,  till,  satiated  with  grief, 

My  soul  at  length  was  calm,  and  much  I  wished 

To  spend  my  few  remaining  years  at  home  : 

Then  thou — for  little  did  the  kindred  blood 

Thou  talkst  of  then  avail — didst  banish  me  ; 

And  now  again  thou  com'st  to  make  me  wretched. 

Because  thou  seest  this  kind  benignant  city 

Embrace  and  cherish,  thou  wouldst  drag  me  hence, 

With  sweetest  words  covering  thy  bitter  mind, 

Professing  love  to  those  who  choose  it  not. 

He  who  denies  his  charitable  aid 

To  the  poor  beggar  in  his  utmost  need, 

And  if  abundance  comes,  should  offer  that 

Which  is  not  wanted,  little  merits  thanks. 

Such  is  thy  bounty  now — in  word  alone, 

And  not  in  deed,  the  friend  of  Q^^dipus. 

But  I  will  tell  them  what  thou  art.     Thou  cam'st  not 

To  take  me  hence,  but  leave  me  in  the  borders 

Of  Thebes,  that  so  thy  kingdom  may  escape 

The  impending  ills  which  this  avenging  city 

Shall  pour  upon  it ;  but  'twill  come  to  pass 

As  I  foretold :  my  evil  genius  still 

Slmll  haunt  yon,  and  my  sons  no  more  of  Thebes 

Inherit  than  shall  serve  them  for  a  grave. 

Thy  country's  fate  is  better  known  to  me 

Than  to  thyself,  for  my  instruction  comes 

From  surer  guides — from  Phoebus  and  from  Jove. 

Thy  artful  speech  shall  little  serve  thy  purpose, 

'Twill  only  hurt  thy  cause :  therefore  begone  ! 

I'm  not  to  be  persuaded.     Let  me  live 

In  quiet  here,  for,  wretched  as  I  am, 

'Twill  be  some  comfort  to  be  far  from  thee. 

Cbeon.  Thinkst  thou  I  heed  thy  words  ?    Who'll 
suffer  most 
For  this  perverseness — thou,  or  I  ? 

(Edi.  Thy  little  arts  will  nought  avail  with  me, 
Or  with  my  friends. 


(EDI  PUS  CO  LONE  US.  291 

Crbon.  Poor  wretch  !  no  time  can  cure 

Thy  follies ;  thy  old  age  is  grown  delirious. 

CEdi.  Thou  hast  a  hateful  tongue  ;  but  few,  how  just 
Soe'er  they  be,  can  always  speak  aright. 

Creon.  But  to  say  much,  and  to  say  well,  are  things 
Which  difier  widely. 

CEdi.  What  thou  sayst  no  doubt 

Is  brief,  and  proper  too. 

Ceeon.  'Twill  hardly  seem  so 

To  those  who  think  like  thee. 

(Edi.  Away ;  nor  dare 

Direct  my  steps,  as  if  thou  hadst  the  power 
To  place  me  where  thou  wilt. 

Oreon.  Kemember  all 

To  witness  this,  for  he  shall  answer  it 
When  he  is  mine. 

(Edi.  But  who  shall  force  me  hence 

Against  the  will  of  these  my  friends  ? 

Ore.  Their  aid 

Is  vain,  already  I  have  done  what  much 
Will  hurt  thee. 

(Edi.  Ha !  what  threats  are  these  % 

Creon.  Thy  daughters 

Must  go  with  me ;  one  is  secured,  and  now 
This  moment  will  I  wrest  the  other  from  thee. 

(Edi.  0  me ! 

Creon.  I'll  give  thee  much  more  cause  for  grief. 

(Edi.  Hast  thou  my  daughter? 

Creon.  Ay,  and  will  have  this. 

(Edi.  \to  the  Chorus].  What  will  you  do,  my  friends? 
Will  you  forsake  me  % 
Will  you  not  drive  this  vile,  abandoned  man 
Forth  from  your  city  % 

Chor.  Stranger,  hence,  away  ! 

Thy  actions  are  most  shameful  and  unjust. 

Creon.  Slaves,  do  your  office ;  bear  her  off"  by  force, 
If  she  consents  not. 

Ant.  Whither  shall  I  fly 

For  aid  ?     What  god  or  man  shall  I  implore 
To  succour  me  ? 

Chor.  Alas  !  what  wouldst  thou  do  % 


Creon.  1  touch  not  him,  but  I  must  have  my' 

Ant.  0  princes !  aid  me  now. 

Chob.  'Tis  most  unjust. 

Creon.  I  say  'tis  just. 

Chor.  Then  prove  it. 

Creon.  They  are  mine. 

Chor.  0  citizens ! 

Ant.  Oh !  loose  me  :  if  you  do  not, 

You  shall  repent  this  violence. 

Creon.  Go  on, 

I  will  defend  you. 

G^^Di.  He,  who  injures  me, 

Oifends  the  city. 

Chor.  Said  I  not  before 

It  would  be  thus  1 

Creon.  [to  the  Chorus].  Let  go  the  maid  this  instant. 

Chor.  Command  where  thou  hast  power. 

Creon.  Let  her  go. 

Chor.  Begone  thyself.     What,  ho !  my  countrymen, 
The  city  is  in  danger ;  haste  and  save  us. 

[Creoh'b  followers  seize  on  Antigone. 

Ant.  I'm  seized,  my  friends.     Oh,  help  ! 

OEdi.  Where  is  my  daughter  'i 

Ant.  Torn  from  thee. 

OEdi  Oh  !  stretch  forth  thy  hand. 

Ant.  I  cannot. 

Creon.  Away  with  her 

CEdi.  0  wretched  CEdipus  ! 

Creon.  No  longer  shall  these  tender  props  support 
Thy  feeble  age  ;  since  thou  art  still  resolved 
Against  thyself,  thy  countr3^,  and  thy  friends, 
By  whose  command.  I  come,  remain  perverse 
And  obstinate,  old  man  ;  but  know,  hereafter 
Time  will  convince  thee  thou  hast  ever  been 
Thy  own  worst  foe  ;  thy  fiery  temper  still 
Must  make  thee  wretched. 

Chor.  Stranger,  stir  not  hence. 

Creon.  I  charge  you,  touch  me  not. 

Chor.  Thou  shalt  not  go 

Till  thou  restor'st  the  virgins. 

Creon.  I  must  have 


A  nobler  I'ansom  from  your  city ;  these 
Shall  not  suffice. 

Chor.  What  meanst  thou  ? 

Creon,  He  shall  go, 

This  (Edipus. 

Chor.  Thy  threats  are  terrible. 

Creon.  I'll  do  't ;  and  only  he  who  governs  here 
Shall  hinder  me. 

Q5di.  0  insolence  !  thou  wilt  not, 

Thou  dar'st  not  force  me. 

Creon.  Hold  thy  peace. 

(Edi.  Not  e'en 

The  dreadful  goddesses,  who  here  preside, 
Should  bind  my  tongue  from  heaviest  curses  on  thee, 
For  thou  hast  robbed  me  of  the  only  light 
These  eyes  could  boast ;  but  may  th'  all-seeing  sun 
Behold  and  punish  thee  and  all  thy  race. 
And  load  thy  age  with  miseries  like  mine  ! 

Creon.  Inhabitants  of  Athens,  hear  ye  this  ? 

(Edi.  They  do,  and  see  that  but  with  fruitless  words 
I  can  repay  the  injuries  I  receive ; 
For  I  am  weak  with  age,  and  here  alone. 

Creon.  No  longer  will  I  curb  my  just  resentment, 
But  force  thee  hence. 

(Edi.  0  me ! 

Chor.  What  boldness,  stranger, 

Could  make  thee  hope  to  do  a  deed  like  this 
Unpunished  ? 

Creon.  'Tis  resolved. 

Chor.  Our  Athens  then 

Is  fallen  indeed,  and  is  no  more  a  city. 

Creon.  In  a  just  cause  the  weak  may  foil  the  mighty. 

(Edi.  Hear  how  he  threatens 

Chor.  What  he'll  ne'er  perform. 

Creon.  That  Jove  alone  can  tell. 

Chor.  Shall  injuries 

Like  these  be  suftered  1 

Creon.  Call  it  injury 

Thou  mayst,  'tis  such  as  thou  perforce  must  bear. 

Chor.  This  is  too  much ;  ye  rulers  of  the  land 
My  fellow-citizens,  come  forth  and  save  us. 


~  (EDIPVS  COLONEUii, 

►Scene  111. 
TiiE.sEi's,  CiiEON,  (Ei)ii'us,  Antioone,  Chorus. 

Tjii:.  Whence  is  this  clamour?  Wherefore  ain  I  calie<l 
From  sacred  rites  at  Neptune's  altar  paid, 
Our  guardian  god  ?     Say,  what's  the  cause  that  thus 
In  hiiste  I'm  summoned  hither  % 

CEdi.  O  my  friend  ! — 

Foi*  well  I  know  thy  voice— most  cruelly 
Have  I  been  treated  by  this  man. 

The.  Who  did  it  % 

(Edi.  This  Creon,  whom  thou   seest,  hath   ravished 
from  me 
My  only  help,  my  daughters. 

The.  Ha !  wliat  sayst  thou  ? 

CEdi.  'Tis  as  I  tell  thee. 

The.  \to  his  Attendants],  Quick,  dispatch  my  servant^. 
Fly  to  the  altar,  summon  all  my  people, 
Horsemen  and  foot ;  give  o'er  the  sacrifice, 
And  instant  to  the  double  gate  repair, 
Lest  with  the  virgins  the  base  ravishers 
Escape  unpunished,  and  my  guest  thus  injui-ed 
Laugh  me  to  scorn  for  cowardice      Away! 
Were  I  to  punish  this  oppressor  here  \tuming  to  Ceeox 
As  my  resentment  bids  and  he  deserves. 
He  should  this  instant  fall  beneath  my  rage  ; 
But  the  same  justice  he  to  others  deals. 
Himself  shall  meet  from  us ;  thou  shalt  not  go 
Till  those  whom  thou  didst  basely  ravish  hence 
Are  brought  before  me.     'Twas  unlike  thyself, 
Unworthy  of  thy  country  and  thy  race. 
To  enter  thus  a  cultivated  city. 
Where  law  and  justice  reign,  with  violence 
And  rapine,  snatching  what  thy  fancy  pleased. 
Or  didst  thou  think  I  ruled  a  desert  land. 
Or  that  my  people  were  a  race  of  slaves. 
And  Theseus  but  the  shadow  of  a  king  ? 
Thebes  never  taught  thee  such  destnictive  lessons, 


(EDIPUS  COLONEUS. 


295 


For  she  abhors  injustice  :  when  she  heai's 
That  Creon,  thus  despising  sacred  laws, 
Hath  ta'en  with  brutal  violence  my  right, 
And  would  have  stolen  a  wretched  suppliant  from  me, 
She'll  not  approve  thy  conduct ;  say  I  went 
To  Thebes,  how  just  soever  were  the  cause, 
I  should  not  seize  on  aught  without  the  lea-ve 
Of  him  who  governed  there ;  but,  as  becomes 
A  stranger,  bear  myself  unblamed  by  all. 
Thou  hast  disgraced  thy  country  and  thy  friends, 
And  weight  of  years  hath  ta'en  thy  senses  from  thee. 
Again  I  say,  restore  the  virgins  to  me. 
Or  stay  with  me  thyself,  for  so  thou  shalt, 
Howe'er  unwilling  \  what  I've  said,  remember. 
Is  what  I  have  resolved — therefore  determine. 
Chok.  \to  Creon].  Stranger,  thy  actions,  noble  as 
thou  art. 
But  ill  become  thy  family  and  name. 
Because  unjust ;  but  thou  beholdst  thy  fate. 

Creon.  Theseus,  it  was  not  that  I  thought  this  city 
Without  or  guards  to  save,  or  laws  to  rule, 
Which  brought  me  here,  nor  unadvised  I  came ; 
But  that  I  hoped  you  never  would  receive 
My  kindred  here  against  my  will,  nor  e'er 
Embrace  a  vile  incestuous  parricide, 
Or  cherish  and  protect  him  in  a  land 
Whose  court,  renowned  for  justice,  suffers  not 
Such  poor  abandoned  exiles  to  reside 
Within  its  borders ;  therefore  did  1  this, 
Which  yet  I  had  not  done  but  for  the  curses 
Which  he  hath  poured  on  me  and  all  my  race ; 
Ileven,afe  inspired  me ;  anger,  well  thou  knowst, 
Can  never  be  extinguished  but  by  death. 
Which  closeth  every  wound.     At  present,  Theseus, 
It  must  be  as  thou  wilt ;  my  want  of  power, 
How  just  soe'er  my  cause,  demands  submission  ; 
Yet,  old  and  weak,  I  shall  not  tamely  yield. 

CEdi.  Audacious  man  !  thinkst  thou  the  vil«3  reproach 
Thou  utter'st  falls  on  me,  or  on  thyself  % 
Thou  who  upbraidst  me  thus  for  all  my  woes. 
Murder  and  incest,  which  against  my  will 


-96  CEDIPUS  COLONEUS.  

I  had  committed,  so  it  pleased  the  gods, 
(JHended  at  my  race  for  former  crimes ; 
But  1  am  guiltless  ;  canst  thou  name  a  fault 
Deserving  this  ?      For,  tell  me,  Avas  it  mine, 
Wlien  to  my  father  Phujbus  did  declare 
That  he  should  one  day  perish  by  the  hand 
Of  his  own  child?      Was  CEdipus  to  blame. 
Who  had  no  being  then  ?     If,  born  at  length 
To  wretchedness,  he  met  his  sire  unknown, 
And  slew  him,  that  involuntary  deed 
Canst  thou  condemn  ?     And  for  my  fatal  marriage, 
Dost  thou  not  blush  to  name  it  ?    Was  not  she 
Thy  sister,  she  who  bore  me,  ignorant 
And  guiltless  woman,  afterwards  my  wife, 
And  mother  to  my  children  %     What  she  did, 
fShe  did  unknowing  ;  not  like  thee,  who  thus 
Dost  purposely  upbraid  us  both.     Heaven  knows 
Unwillingly  I  w^edded  her,  and  now 
Unwillingly  repeat  the  dreadful  tale ; 
But,  nor  for  that,  nor  for  my  murdered  father, 
Have  I  deserved  thy  bitter  taunts ;  for  tell  me. 
Thy  life  attacked,  wouldst  thou  have  stayed  to  ask 
Th'  assassin  if  he  were  t\\j  father  ?     No ; 
Self-love  would  urge  thee  to  revenge  the  insult. 
Thus  was  I  drove  to  ill  by  th'  angry  gods ; 
This,  should  my  father's  soul  revisit  earth. 
Himself  would  own,  and  pity  CEdipus. 
Thy  bold  and  impious  tongue  still  utters  all ; 
Just  or  unjust,  thou  pourst  thy  foul  reproach 
On  me,  pretending  to  revere  the  name 
Of  Theseus  and  his  countiy.      But  remember, 
The  city,  whom  thou  hast  praised,  is  famed 
For  piety  and  reverence  to  the  gods ; 
Yet  wouldst  thou  drive  a  needy  suppliant  thence, 
And  lead  him  captive.     Thou  hast  stolen  my  daughter ; 
But  I  implore  the  dreadful  goddesses 
To  grant  me  aid,  that  thou  mayst  feel  the  power 
Which  thou  contemn'st,  and  know  the  force  of  Athens. 
Chor.  [to  Theseus].  O  king  !  this  stranger  merits  thy 
regard  ; 
His  woes  are  great,  his  cause  should  be  defended. 


CEDIPUS  COLONEUS.  297 

The.  No  more  the  ravishers  are  fled  with,  speed, 
Whilst  we,  who  suffer,  stand  inactive  here. 

Creon.  Speak  thy  commands,  for  I  must  yield  to 
thee. 

The.  Go  thou  before  me,  I  shall  follow  close ; 
If  here  thou  hast  concealed  the  virgins,  now 
Discover  them ;  if  hence,  to  others'  hands 
Committed,  they  are  fled,  they  shall  not  'scape ; 
My  servants  soon  will  fetch  them  back.     Meantime, 
Remember  thy  condition,  for  thy  fate 
Hath  caught  thee  in  the  net  which  thou  hadst  spread 
For  others ;  but  what  evil  means  acquire 
Is  seldom  kept :  thou  cam'st  not  naked  here, 
Or  unattended,  thus  to  do  an  act 
Of  violence.     Ere  long  1 11  know  on  what 
Thou  didst  rely,  nor  by  a  single  arm 
Shall  Athens  fall  inglorious.     Hearst  thou  this, 
Or  are  my  words  unheeded  ? 

Creon.  'Tis  not  now 

A  time  to  answer ;  we  shall  know  at  home 
What  must  be  done. 

The.  Thou  threatenest ;  but  go  on. 

Stay  thou  in  quiet  here,  for  if  I  live, 

\turninij  to  OEdipus 
I  will  not  rest  till  I  restore  thy  daughters. 

\Extimt  Theseus  and  Creo.v. 

Scene  IV. 

CEdipus,  Chorus. 

Chorus. 

StropliQ  I. 

Now  the  combatants  prepare, 
And  hasten  to  the  field  of  war, 
Theseus,  their  great  and  god-like  friend, 
The  hapless  virgins  shall  defend. 
Oh  !  could  I  hear  the  dreadful  battle  roar, 
Or  near  Apollo's  sacred  shrine, 


298  (EDIPUS  COLONEUS. 

Or  on  the  torch -enlightened  shore, 
Or  Ceres,  where  thy  priests  their  rights  divine 
Perform,  with  lips  in  solemn  silence  sealed, 
And  mysteries  ne'er  by  mortal  tongue  revealed. 

Antistrophe  i. 

At  yon  snowy  mountain's  feet 

Westward  perchance  the  warriors  meet ; 

Chariot  and  horse  with  mutual  rage 

On  CEta's  ilowery  plains  engage ; 
Around  their  Theseus  now,  a  valiant  band, 

See  Athens'  martial  sons  unite 

To  save  their  native  land  ; 
All  shake  their  glittering  spears,  and  urge  the  fight ; 
All  who  thy  power,  Equestrian  Pallas,  own, 
Or  bow  to  Neptune,  Rhea's  honoured  son, 

Sti'ojyhe  2. 

The  bloody  scene  shall  soon  be  o'er 

Creon  the  virgin  shall  restoi-e ; 

My  soul  prophetic  sees  the  maid 

For  pious  duty  thus  repaid ; 
For  ever  active  is  the  power  of  Jove, 

From  whom  perpetual  blessings  flow  : 

Oh  !  that  I  now  could,  like  the  dove, 
Soar  through  the  skies,  and  mai-k  the  field  below. 
The  wished-for  conquest  joyful  to  behold. 
And  triumph  in  the  victory  I  foretold  ! 

Antistrojihe  2. 

Thou  power  supreme,  all  powers  above, 

All-seeing,  all-performing  Jove, 

Grant  that  the  rulers  of  this  land 

May  soon  subdue  the  hostile  band  ! 
Tliee,  too,  O  Pallas !  hunter  Phoebus,  thee 

Do  we  invoke,  with  thee  be  joined 

Thy  virgin  sister  deity, 
Who  loves  o'er  lawns  to  chase  the  spotted  hind ; 
On  you  w^e  call,  your  aid  propitious  bring, 
Oh  1  haste,  protect  our  country  and  our  king.       [ExeunL 


(EDIPUS  COLONEL'S.  299 

ACT    III. 
Scene  1. 

(Edipus,  Theseus,  Antigone,  Ismene, 
Chorus. 

Chor.  I'm  no  false  prophet,  stranger,  for  behold 
Thy  daughters. 

CEdi.         Ha  !  what  sayst  thou  ?    Where,  oh  !  where  ? 

Ant.  My  father  !  0  my  father  !  what  kind  god 
Raised  up  this  friend  who  hath  restored  us  to  thee  ? 

CEdi.  Are  then  my  daughters  with  me  % 

Ant.  Theseus'  arm 

Hath  brought  us  here  :  to  him  and  to  his  friends 
We  owe  our  safety. 

CEdi.  Oh  !  come  nigh,  my  children  ; 

Let  me  embrace  you.     Never  did  I  think 
Again  to  fold  you  in  these  arms. 

Ant.  We  come 

With  joy,  my  father. 

CEdi.  Oh  !  where  are  you  ? 

Ant.  Here. 

CEdi.  My  dearest  children  ! 

Ant.  To  our  father  still 

May  every  pleasure  come  ! 

CEdi.  ^eaniyig  on  Antigone].  My  best  support ! 

Ant.  The  wretched  bear  the  wretched. 

CEdi.  \emhracing  them].  I  have  all 

That 's  precious  to  me :  were  I  now  to  die 
Whilst  you  are  here,  I  should  not  be  unhappy. 
Support  me,  daughters,  to  your  father's  side 
Close  pressed.     Oh  !  soothe  to  peace  a  wretched  exile. 
Long  time  deserted.     Tell  me  what  hath  happened  ; 
But  let  the  tale  be  short,  as  best  becomes 
Thy  tender  age. 

Ant.  [pointing  to  Theseus].  Here  is  our  great  pro- 
tector. 


300  (EDIPUS  COLONEUS. 

He  will  inform  you;  so  shall  what  I  speak 
Be  brief,  as  thou  wouldst  have  it. 

(Edi.  Noble  Theseus, 

My  children  thus  beyond  my  hopes  restored. 
If  I  should  talk  too  long  on  such  a  theme, 
Thou  wilt  not  wonder.     'Tis  to  thee  alone 
I  owe  my  joys  ;  thou  didst  protect  and  save 
My  much-loved  daughters  :  may  the  gods  repay 
Thee  and  thy  kingdom  for  this  goodness  to  me  ! 
Here  only  have  I  found  or  faith,  or  truth, 
Or  justice  ;  you  alone  possess  them  all. 
I  ^vill  attest  it,  for  1  know  it  well. 
I  feel  your  virtues ;  what  I  have  is  all 
From  you.     0  king  !  permit  me  but  to  touch 
Thy  hand.     Oh  !  stretch  it  forth  ;  or  let  me  kiss 
Thy  honoured  lips.     But,  oh  !  what  do  I  say  ? 
Can  such  a  wretch  as  CEdipus  e'er  hope 
With  guilty  hands  to  touch  a  man  like  thee, 
So  pure,  so  spotless  ?     Yet  I  must  embrace  thee ; 
They  only  who  have  known  misfortune  feel 
For  others'  griefs  with  sympathizing  woe. 
Hail,  best  of  men  !  and  mayst  thou  ever  be. 
As  thou  hast  been,  my  guardian  and  my  friend  ! 

The.  Thus  happy  as  thou  must  be  in  thy  children, 
Hadst  thou  said  more,  much  more,  and  talked  to  them 
Rather  than  me,  it  had  not  moved  my  wonder ; 
Nor  think  I  should  resent  it.    Not  by  w^ords 
Would  Theseus  be  distinguished,  but  by  deeds 
Illustrious.     This  thou  knowst,  for  what  I  swore 
I  have  performed — restored  thy  daughters  to  thee, 
Safe  from  the  tyrant's  threats.     How  passed  the  conflict 
Why  should  I  boast  ?     They  at  their  leisure  best 
May  tell  you  all.     Meantime  to  what  I  heard 
As  hither  coming,  CEdipus,  attend. 
Of  little  import  seemed  the  circumstance. 
And  yet  'twas  strange ;  but  nought  should  mortal  man 
Deem  or  beneath  his  notice  or  his  care. 

(Edi.  What  is  it,  son  of  ^geus  ?     Oh !  inform  me, 
For  nothing  have  I  heard. 

The.  a  man,  they  say. 

Who  boasts  himself  by  blood  allied  to  thee. 


CEDIPUS  COLON E  US.  301 

At  Neptune's  altar,  whilst  I  sacrificed, 
In  humblest  posture  stood. 

CEdi.  What  could  it  mean  % 

Whence  came  he  % 

The.  That  I  know  not  \  this  alone 

They  told  me  :  suppliant  he  requested  much 
To  talk  a  while  with  thee. 

CEdi.  With  me  %     'Tis  strange, 

And  yet  methinks  important. 

The.  He  desired 

But  to  converse  with  thee,  and  then  depart. 

CEdi.  Who  can  it  be  ? 

The.  Hast  thou  no  friend  at  Argos, 

None  of  thy  kindred  there  who  wished  to  see  thee  ? 

CEdi.  No  more,  my  friend. 

The.  What  sayst  thou  ? 

CEdi.  Do  not  ask  me. 

The.  Ask  what 

CEdi.  I  know  him  now ;  I  know  too  well 

Who  's  at  the  altar. 

The.  Who  is  it  ? 

CEdi.  My  son — 

That  hateful  son,  whose  voice  I  loathe  to  hear. 

The.  But  why  not  hear  him  %    Still  thou  mayst  refuse 
What  he  shall  ask. 

CEdi.  I  cannot,  cannot  bear  it : 

Do  not  oblige  me. 

The.  But  the  sacred  place 

Where  now  he  stands,  and  reverence  to  the  gods, 
Demand  it  of  thee. 

Ant.  Let  me,  0  my  father ! 

Young  as  I  am,  admonish  thee.     Oh  !  grant 
Thy  friend  his  just  request;  obey  the  gods, 
And  let  our  brother  come :  whate'er  he  says 
It  need  not  draw  thee  from  thy  first  resolve. 
What  harm  to  hear  him  ?    Words  have  oft  produced 
The  noblest  works.    Remember,  'tis  thy  child — 
Thou  didst  beget  him ;  though  he  were  the  worst 
Of  sons  to  thee,  yet  would  it  ill  become 
A  father  to  return  it.    Let  him  come. 
Others  like  thee  have  base,  unwortliy  children, 


303  (EDIPUS  COLONEUS, 

And  yet  their  minds  are  softened  to  forgiveness 

By  friends'  ad\ace,  and  all  their  wTath  subdued. 

Think  on  thy  own  unhappy  parent's  fate, 

Thence  mayst  thou  learn  what  dreadful  ills  have  flowed 

From  anger's  bitter  fountain  ;  thou,  alas  ! 

Art  a  sad  proof ;  those  sightless  eyes  too  well 

Bear  witness  to  it.    Those  who  only  ask 

What  justice  warrants,  should  not  ask  in  vain ; 

Nor  who  receives  a  benefit,  forget 

The  hand  that  gave,  but  study  to  repay  it. 

CEdi.  You  have  o'ercome  me  :  with  reluctant  pleasure 
I  }ield.    My  children,  be  it  as  you  please ; 
But  if  he  comes,  0  Theseus !  guard  my  life. 

The.  I've  said  enough ;  no  more.    I  will  not  boast, 
But  thou  art  safe  if  Heaven  forsake  not  me. 


Scene  II. 
Chorus. 
Stro2ohe. 

In  sacred  wisdom's  path  is  seldom  seen 

The  wretch,  whom  sordid  love  of  wealth  inspires ; 
Neglectful  of  the  happy  golden  mean, 

His  soul  nor  truth  nor  heavenly  knowledge  fires ; 
No  length  of  days  to  him  can  pleasure  bring, 

In  death  alone  he  finds  repose, 

End  of  his  wishes  and  his  woes; 

In  that  uncomfortable  night 

Where  never  music's  charms  delight, 
Nor  virgin  choirs  their  hymeneals  sing. 

Antistroplie. 

The  happiest  fate  of  man  is  not  to  be ; 

And  next  in  bliss  is  he  who  soon  as  bom, 
From  the  vain  world  and  all  its  sorrows  free, 

Shall  whence  he  came  with  speediest  foot  return ; 


(ED I  PUS  COLONEUS.  303 

For  youth  is  full  of  folly,  toils,  and  woes, 

Of  war,  sedition,  pain,  and  strife. 

With  all  the  busy  ills  of  life. 

Till  helpless  age  come  creeping  on, 

Deserted,  friendless,  and  alone. 
Which  neither  power  nor  joy  nor  pleasure  knows. 

E'pode. 

The  hapless  CEdipus,  like  me, 

Is  doomed  to  age  and  misery ; 

E'en  as  around  the  northern  shore 

The  bleak  winds  howl  and  tempests  roar, 

Contending  storms  in  terror  meet, 

And  dashing  waves  for  ever  beat; 
Thus  is  the  wretched  king  with  grief  oppressed, 
And  woes  on  woes  afflict  his  long-distempered  breast. 

\Exe,ihnt. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene    I. 
CEdipus,  Antigone,  Ismene,  Chorus. 

Ant.  This  way,  my  father.  Lo !  the  wretched  man 
Approaches,  unattended,  and  in  tears. 

(Edi.  Who  comes,  my  child  % 

Ant.  E'en  he  I  told  thee  of- 

Poor  Polj^nices. 

Scene  II. 

Polynices,  CEdipus,  Antigone,  Ismene,  Chorus. 

Pol.  O  my  sisters  !  see 

Of  all  mankind  the  most  unhappy.     Where 
Shall  I  begin  %  shall  I  lament  my  own, 
Or  shall  I  weep  an  aged  parent's  fate  % 
For,  oh  !  'tis  horrible  to  find  him  thus 


304 

A  wandering  exile  in  a  foreign  land ; 

In  this  moan  garb,  with  wild  dishevelled  hair, 

Bereft  of  sight,  and  destitute,  perhaps, 

Of  needful  food  and  nourishment.     Alas ! 

Too  late  I  know  it ;  worthless  jus  I  am, 

I  flew  to  succour  him,  to  plead  my  cause. 

That  not  from  others  he  might  hear  the  talo 

Of  my  misfortunes.     Sacred  pity  sits 

Fast  by  the  throne  of  Jove,  o'er  all  his  works 

Presiding  gracious.     Oh  !  let  her  inspire 

Thy  breast,  my  father.     Ciimes  already  done. 

Which  cannot  be  recalled,  may  still  be  healed 

By  kind  forgiveness  :  why,  then,  art  thou  silent  1 

Oh  !  speak,  my  father ;  do  not  turn  aside. 

Wilt  thou  not  answer  ?    Wilt  thou  let  me  go 

Without  one  word  ;  nor  tell  me  whence  thy  wrath 

Contemptuous  springs  1    My  sisters,  you  at  least 

Will  try  to  move  his  unrelenting  heart. 

And  loosen  his  closed  lips,  that  not  thus  spurned 

And  thus  unanswered,  though  a  suppliant  here 

At  Neptune's  altar,  I  return  with  shame 

And  foul  disgrace. 

Ant.  Say,  wherefore  didst  thou  come, 

My  hapless  brother  1    Tell  thy  mournful  tale ; 
Such  is  the  power  of  words,  that  whether  sweet 
They  move  soft  pity,  or  when  bitter  urge 
To  violence  and  wrath,  at  least  they  ope 
Th'  unwilling  lips,  and  make  the  silent  speak. 

Poly.  'Tis  well  advised,  and  I  will  tell  thee  all. 
Oh  !  may  that  deity  propitious  smile 
Whose  altar  late  I  left,  whence  Theseus  raised 
This  w^retched  suppliant,  and  in  converse  free 
Mixed  gracious  with  me  !    May  I  hope  from  you 
The  like  benevolence  ?   And  now,  my  father, 
I'll  tell  thee  wherefore  Polynices  came. 
Thou  seest  me  banished  from  my  native  land — 
Unjustly  banished,  for  no  other  crime 
But  that  I  strove  to  keep  the  throne  of  Thebes, 
By  birthright  mine,  from  him  who  drove  me  thence. 
The  young  Eteocles :  not  his  the  claim 
By  justice,  nor  to  me  his  fame  in  arms 


CEDJPUS  COLONEUS.  305 

Superior ;  but  by  soft  persuasive  arts 

He  won  the  rebel  city  to  his  love. 

Thy  curse,  my  father,  was  the  cause  of  all — 

I  know  it  was  ;  for  so  the  priests  declared 

In  oracles  divine.     To  Argos  then 

I  came,  and,  to  Adrastus'  daughter  joined 

In  marriage,  gained  the  Argive  chiefs,  renowned 

For  martial  deeds ;  seven  valiant  leaders  march 

To  Thebes,  resolved  to  conquer  or  to  die. 

Therefore  to  thee,  my  father,  came  I  here, 

To  beg  thy  aid  for  me  and  these  my  friends, 

Companions  of  the  war,  who  threaten  Thebes 

With  their  united  powers,  in  order  thus : 

The  wise  and  brave  Amphiaraus,  or  skilled 

To  cast  the  spear,  or  with  prophetic  tongue 

Disclose  the  will  of  Heaven ;  with  CEneus'  son 

-^tolian  Tydeus,  and  Eteocles, 

At  Argos  born  ;  to  these  Hippomedon, 

Sent  by  Talaus,  his  renowned  sire  ; 

Bold  Capaneus,  who  threatens  soon  to  raze 

The  walls  of  mighty  Thebes ;  to  close  the  train, 

Parthenopsean  Areas  comes,  the  son 

Of  Atalantis,  from  her  virgin  name 

So  called.    With  these  thy  hapless  son  (the  child 

Of  dire  misfortune  rather)  leads  his  force 

From  Argos  to  rebellious  Thebes.     For  these, 

And  for  their  children,  for  the  lives  of  all, 

Suppliant  to  thee  we  come — in  humble  prayer 

To  deprecate  thy  wrath  against  a  wretch 

Who,  injured  much,  but  seeks  the  vengeance  due 

To  a  base  brother,  whose  oppressive  hand 

Hath  drove  me  from  my  country  and  my  throne. 

If  there  be  truth  in  what  the  gods  declare, 

On  him  shall  victory  smile  for  whom  thy  vows 

Shall  rise  propitious ;  therefore,  by  our  gods 

And  native  fountains,  oh  !  remit  thy  anger, 

And  smile  upon  me,  on  a  banished  man, 

A  beggar  like  thyself,  who  lives,  like  thee, 

By  others'  bounty — in  one  common  fate 

We  are  united,  whilst  the  tyrant  sits 

In  ease  at  home,  and  laughs  our  woes  to  :<corn. 


3o6 


(EDIPUS  COLObiEUS, 


Yet  if  thou  wouldst  but  listen  to  my  vows, 
Soon  might  I  cast  him  forth,  restore  thee  soon 
To  thy  dear  native  hind,  and  seat  myself 
In  my  own  kingdom.     Thy  assent,  my  father, 
Is  all  I  ask ;  but,  oh  !  without  thy  aid 
I  have  no  hope  of  safety  or  revenge. 

Chor.  For  Theseus'  sake,  oh  !  give  him  answer  now, 
And  let  him  go. 

(Edi.  But  that  the  noble  Theseus, 

Who  hither  brought  him  did  request  it  of  me, 
He  ne'er  had  heard  the  voice  ef  Qildipus ; 
And  little  pleasure  will  it  now  bestow. 
Ungrateful  wretch  !  who,  when  the  throne  of  Thebes, 

\tuming  to  Polynices 
Where  now  thy  brother  sits,  was  thine,  didst  drive 
Thy  father  hence,  to  penury  and  woe. 
Now,  when  thou  seest  me  in  this  mean  attire. 
Thou  weepst  my  fate  because  'tis  Uke  thy  own ; 
But  I'll  not  weep,  for  I  can  bear  it  all, 
Still,  wicked  parricide,  remembering  thee. 
The  cruel  cause  of  all ;  thou  mad'st  me  thus 
On  others'  bounty  to  rely  for  food 
And  nourishment ;  for  thee,  I  might  have  perished. 
But  these  my  pious  daughters,  these  alone, 
Beyond  their  sex's  power,  with  manly  aid 
Have  cherished  and  protected  me.     For  you, 
Who  call  yourselves  my  sons,  ye  are  not  mine — 
I  know  you  not ;  though  Heaven  hath  spared  you  long, 
Death  will  o'ertake  you.     When  thy  forces  come 
To  Thebes,  which  shall  not  fall  before  thy  arms. 
There  soon  shalt  thou,  and  thy  vile  bi'other,  die. 
Long  since  my  curses  did  declare  thy  fate. 
Which  here  I  do  repeat,  that  you  may  learn 
The  reveience  due  to  parents,  and  no  more 
Reproach  a  sightless  father.     Look  on  these. 
My  duteous  daughters  :  did  they  act  like  you  1 
They  never  did ;  and  therefore  to  the  throne 
Which  you  have  forfeited  shall  they  succeed, 
If  justice  still,  as  she  is  ever  wont. 
Sits  at  the  hand  of  Jove.     Meantime  thou  worst, 
Thou  most  abandoned  of  the  race  of  men, 


CEDIPUS  COLONEUS.  307 

Begone — away  !  and  with  thee  bear  this  curse 
Which  here  I  do  pronounce  :  To  Argos  ne'er 
Mayst  thou  return  !  never  may  Thebes  be  thine  ! 
Soon  mayst  thou  perish  by  a  brother's  hand, 
Slaying  the  slayer  !  may  dark  Erebus 
Receive  them  both  !     And  now  on  you  I  call, 
Ye  goddesses  revered,  and  thou,  0  Mars  ! 
Thou  who  hast  raised  the  bitter  strife  between 
My  impious  sons,  bear  witness  to  my  words  ! 
Farewell !     Now  go,  and  tell  the  Thebans,  tell 
Thy  faithful  friends,  how  fair  an  heritage 
Your  CEdipus  hath  here  bequeathed  his  children. 

Chor.  0  Polynices  !  little  is  the  joy 
Which  we  can  give  thee  of  this  fatal  journey  ; 
Therefore  away  and  leave  us. 

Poly.  A  sad  path 

These  steps  have  trod  indeed,  of  woe  to  me 
And  to  my  friends.     Was  it  for  this,  alas  ! 
I  came  from  Argos  %     I  can  never  tell 
My  mournful  story  there,  never  return  ; 
Oh  !  I  must  bury  it  in  silence  all. 
My  sisters,  ye  have  heard  the  dreadful  curse 
Which  he  pronounced.     Oh  !  if  it  be  fulfilled. 
And  some  kind  hand  restore  you  back  to  Thebes, 
At  least  remember  me  ;  at  least  perform 
The  funeral  rights,  and  hide  me  in  the  tomb ; 
So  shall  your  names,  for  pious  tenderness 
To  an  unhappy  father  long  revered, 
With  added  praises  crowned,  exalted  shine. 
For  this  kind  office  to  a  brother's  shade. 

Ant.  0  Polynices  !  let  me  beg  thee,  hear 
Thy  sister  now. 

Poly.  My  dear  Antigone, 

What  sayst  thou  % 

Ant,  Lead  thy  armies  back  to  Argos, 

Nor  thus  destroy  thy  country  and  thyself. 

Poly.  It  cannot  be ;  my  forces  once  dismissed 
Through  fear,  what  power  shall  e'er  reunite  them  ? 

Ant.  But  wherefore  all  this  rage?     What  canst  thou 
hope 
Of  fame  or  profit  by  the  fall  of  Thebes  ? 


(EDirUS  COLONEUS. 


Poly.  'Tis  base  to  fly,  and,  eldest  born  ns  I  am, 
To  be  tlie  laughter  of  a  younger  brother. 

Ant.  Dost  thou  not  dread  the  oracles  pronounced 
Against  you  both — death  by  each  other's  hand  % 

Poly.  I  know  the  sentence  ;  but  we  must  go  on. 

Ant.  Alas  !  and  who  shall  dare  to  follow  thee 
After  this  dire  prediction  ? 

Poly.  None  shall  know  It. 

The  prudent  general  tells  the  good  alone. 
And  keeps  the  threatened  ill  unknown  to  all. 

Ant.  Art  thou  determined  then,  and  wilt  thou  go  ? 

Poly.  Do  not  dissuade  me,  for  the  task  is  mine  ; 
And  though  a  father's  fatal  curse  attend  me. 
Though  vengeful  furies  shall  await  my  steps, 
Yet  I  must  go.     May  Jove  indulgent  smile 
On  you,  my  sisters,  if  when  I  am  dead. 
As  soon  I  shall  be,  to  my  breathless  corpse 
You  pay  due  honours  !    Now,  farewell  for  ever, 
For  living  ye  shall  ne'er  again  behold  me. 

Ant.  Alas  !  my  brother ! 

Poly.  Do  not  weep  for  me. 

Ant.  Who  would  not  weep  to  see  thee  rushing  thus 
On  certain  death  % 

Poly.  If  I  must  die,  I  must. 

Ant.  Yet  bo  persuaded. 

Poly.  Ask  me  not  to  do 

A  deed  unworthy  of  me. 

Ant.  Losing  thee, 

I  shall  be  most  unhappy. 

Poly.  To  the  gods 

Alone  belong  the  fate  of  mortals  ;  some 
Are  born  to  happiness  and  some  to  woe  : 
You  may  they  guard  from  every  ill,  for  sure 
Ye  merit  all  the  good  they  can  bestow. 

\Exit  Polynices 


(EDTPUS  COLONEUS,  309 

Scene  III. 
CEdipus,  Antigone,  Ismene,  Chorus. 

Chor.  Fresli  sorrows  hath  this  hapless  stranger 
brought 
On  me  and  all ;  but  so  hath  Heaven  decreed, 
Which  nothing  doth  in  vain ;  whilst  time  beholds 
And  orders  all,  inflicting  woe  on  woe. 
But,  hark  !  the  thunder  roars  :  almighty  Jove  ! 

CEdi.   My  daughters  !  0  my  daughters  I  who  will 
bring 
The  noble  Theseus  here,  that  best  of  men  % 

Ant.  Wherefore,  my  father,  should  we  call  liim 
hither  ? 

(Edi.  This  winged  lightning  from  the  arm  of  Jove 
Must  bear  me  to  the  shades  below.     Where 's  Theseus  % 
Let  him  be  sent  for  instantly. 

Chor.  Again, 

Another  dreadful  clap !     It  strikes  my  soul 
With  horror,  and  my  hairs  do  stand  on  end 
With  fear.     Behold,  again  the  lightnings  flash  ! 
I  dread  the  consequence,  for  not  in  vain 
These  signs  appear  of  some  calamity 
Portentous  ever,  0  ethereal  Jove  ! 

CEdi.  Alas  !  my  children,  nought  can  save  me  now ; 
The  fatal  hour  of  my  departure  hence 
Draws  nigh. 

Ant.  Why  thinkst  thou  so  % 

CEdi.  I  know  it  well. 

Send  for  the  king  immediately. 

Chor.  Alas ! 

The  thunder  rolls  on  every  side.     Good  Heaven, 
Protect  us !     If  to  this  devoted  land 
It  bodes  destruction,  let  not  ruin  fall 
On  me.     Oh  !  let  not  that  be  our  reward 
For  pitying  thus  a  poor  deserted  stranger. 
O  Jove  !  on  thee  we  call :  protect  and  save  us  ! 

(Edi.  Is  Theseus  come  %  shall  he  once  more  behold  me, 
Whilst  yet  I  live,  and  keep  my  perfect  mind  \ 


3IO 


azDipus  COLO XE us. 


Chor.  What  secret  hast  thou  to  reveal  to  him  % 
CEdi.  I  owe  him  much,  and  would  repay  his  good)io^ 
E'en  n.s  I  promised  him. 

Chor.  Oh  !  haste,  my  son ; 

At  Neptune's  altar  leave  the  sacrifice 
And  hither  fly,  for  Ql^ dipus,  to  thee 
And  to  tliy  country  grateful,  waits  to  pay 
Thy  bounties.     Haste,  O  Theseus  !  to  receive  them. 


Scene  IV. 


Theseus,  Oedipus,  Antigone,  Ismene,  Chorus. 


The.  Again  this  noise,  this  wild  astonishment, 
Amongst  you  all !     Was  QEdipus  the  cause  ? 
Or  did  the  bolt  of  Jove  and  rushing  hail 
Affright  you  1    When  the  god  in  raging  storms 
Descends  thus  dreadful,  we  have  cause  to  fear. 

(Edi.  0  king  !  thou  com'st  in  happy  hour ;  some  god 
Propitious  led  thee  hither. 

The.  Son  of  Laius, 

What  new  event  hath  happened  ? 

CEdi.  Know,  my  life 

At  length  is  verging  to  its  latest  hour ; 
I  wish  to  die,  but  first  my  vows  to  thee, 
And  to  this  city,  faithful  must  perform. 

The.  But  who  hath  told  thee  thou  so  soon  shalt  die  ? 

CEdi.  The  gods  themselves,  who  never  utter  falsehood. 
By  signs  infallible  have  warned  me  of  it. 

The.  How  spake  they  to  thee  % 

QSdi.  In  repeated  thunder 

And  lightning  from  th'  all- powerful  hand  of  Jove. 

The.  I  do  believe  thee,  for  thy  prophecies 
Were  never  false ;  but  say,  what  must  be  done  ? 

(Edi.  O  son  of  ^geus !  I  will  tell  thee  all 
The  bliss  reserved  for  thee  in  thy  age — 
For  thee,  and  for  thy  country.    I  must  go 
To  my  appointed  place,  and  there  shall  die : 
I  go  without  a  guide,  nor  must  thou  tell 


CEDIPUS  COLONEUS, 


311 


To  mortal  ear  where  CEdipus  doth  He, 

For  ever  hid.    0  king  !  that  sacred  place 

Shall  be  thy  sure  defence,  and  better  far 

Than  many  a  shield,  or  all  the  social  aid 

Of  firm  alliance  in  the  field  of  war. 

What  more  remains,  unutterable  now, 

Of  higher  import,  thither  when  thou  com'st 

To  thee  alone  shall  be  delivered ;  nought 

Shall  I  reveal,  or  to  the  citizens, 

Or  e'en  to  those,  beloved  as  they  are. 

My  pious  daughters.     Thou  must  ever  keep 

The  solemn  secret ;  only,  when  thy  life 

Draws  near  its  end,  disclose  it  to  thy  son, 

Heir  of  thy  kingdom,  and  to  him  alone. 

Erom  king  to  king  thus  shall  the  tale  devolve, 

And  thus  thy  Athens  be  for  ever  safe 

From  Theban  force  \  even  the  best  of  cities, 

Where  justice  rules,  may  swerve  from  virtue's  laws 

And  be  oppressive  ;  but  the  gods,  though  late, 

Will  one  day  punish  all  who  disobey 

Their  sacred  mandates;  therefore,  son  of  ^geus, 
Be  careful  and  be  just :  but  this  to  thee 
I  need  not  say.     Quick,  let  us  to  the  place, 

For  so  the  gods  decree ;  there  must  I  go, 

Thence  never  to  return.    Come  then,  my  daughteis  : 

Long  have  you  been  my  pious  guides ;  hencefortli 

I  must  be  yours.     Follow,  but  touch  me  not ; 

Let  me  find  out  the  tomb  where  I  must  hide 

My  poor  remains  :  that  way  my  journey  lies. 

\Pointing  with  his  hand. 
Away  :  thou  god  of  shades,  gi^eat  Mercury, 
And  Proserpine,  infernal  powers,  conduct  me ! 
0  sightless  eyes  !  where  are  ye  ?    Never  more 
Shall  these  hands  touch  your  unavailing  orbs. 
0  light  and  life  !  farewell  :  at  length  I  go 
To  hide  me  in  the  tomb ;  but  oh  !  for  tliee. 
My  best  beloved  friend,  and  this  fair  land. 
And  these  thy  subjects,  may  prosperity 
Attend  you  still,  and  may  you  sometimes  dei-u 
Amidst  your  bliss  to  think  on  (Edipus  !  [Exeunt, 

Ciioii.  Goddess  invisible,  on  thee  we  call, 


312 


CEDIPUS  COLONEUS. 


If  thee  we  may  invoke,  Proserpina,  and  thee 

Great  Pluto,  king  of  shades,  oh !  gmnt 

That  not,  oppressed  by  torturing  pain, 

Beneath  the  stroke  of  death  he  Unger  long, 

But  swift  with  easy  steps  descend. 

To  Styx's  drear  abode ; 

For  he  hath  led  a  life  of  toil  and  pain; 

May  the  just  gods  repay  his  undeserved  woe ! 

Ye  goddesses  revered,  who  dwell 

Beneath  the  earth  deep  hid,  and  thou. 

Who,  barking  from  thy  gloomy  cave, 

Unconquered  Cerberus,  guardst  the  ghosts  below, 

On  thee,  O  son  of  Tartarus  !  we  call, 

For  thou  art  ever  wakeful — lead,  oh !  lead 

To  thy  dark  mansions  this  unhappy  stranger. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 


Scene    I. 
Messenger,  Chorus. 


Messenger.  0  citizens  !  I  come  to  tell  a  tale 

But  to  be  brief,  know,  OEdipus  is  dead. 
To  speak  the  manner  and  strange  circumstance 
Of  his  departure  will  require  more  words, 
And  calls  for  your  attention. 

Chor.  Is  he  gone  ? 

Unhappy  man ! 

Mes.  For  ever  hath  he  left 

The  path  of  life. 

Chor,  How  died  he? — by  the  hand 

Of  Heaven  dismissed,  without  disease  or  pain? 

Mes.  Oh  !  'twas  a  scene  of  wonder.    How  he  left 
This  place,  and,  self-conducted,  led  us  on, 
Blind  as  he  was,  ye  all  remember  well. 


(EDIPUS  COLONEUS,  313 

Soon  as  he  came  to  where  the  craggy  steep 

With  brazen  steps  leads  to  the  hollow  gulf, 

Where  various  paths  unite,  a  place  renowned 

For  the  famed  league  of  Theseus  and  his  friend, 

Between  Acherdus  and  the  Thracian  rock, 

On  a  sepulchral  stone  he  sat  him  down ; 

Pulled  off  the  lilthy  weeds  he  long  had  worn, 

And  bade  his  daughters  instantly  prepare 

The  bath  and  splendid  garb ;  with  hasty  steps 

To  Ceres'  neighbouring  altar  they  repair 

Obedient,  bring  the  vessel,  and  the  robe 

Funereal.     All  things  done  as  custom  bids 

For  dying  men,  sudden  a  dreadful  clap 

Of  thunder  shook  the  ground ;  the  virgins  trembled, 

And  clinging  fearful  round  their  father's  knees 

Beat  their  sad  breasts,  and  wept.    Soon  as  he  heard 

The  sound  portentous,  he  embraced  his  daughters : 

"  Children,"  he  cried,  "  your  father  is  no  more; 

No  longer  shall  you  lead  a  life  of  pain. 

No  longer  toil  for  QEdipus,     Alas  ! 

'Twas  dreadful  to  you,  but  this  day,  my  children, 

Shall  end  your  sorrows  and  my  life  together. 

Never  did  father  love  his  daughters  more 

Than  I  have  loved ;  but  henceforth  you  must  live 

Without  your  Qlldipus.     Farewell  for  ever  !  " 

He  spake,  and  long,  in  sad  embraces  joined, 

They  wept  aloud ;  at  length  did  clamorous  grief 

To  silent  sorrow  yield,  and  all  was  still ; 

When  suddenly  we  heard  a  voice  that  oft 

Repeated,  "  CEdipus,  why  this  delay? 

Where  art  thou,  (Edipus  %  "    The  wretched  king, 

Attentive  to  the  call  of  Heaven,  desired 

That  Theseus  might  be  sent  for ;  Theseus  came. 

When  thus  the  dying  exile  :  "0  my  friend  ! 

Give  me  thy  hand,  my  daughters  give  him  yours; 

Let  this,  my  dearest  Theseus,  be  the  pledge 

Of  amity  between  you ;  promise  here 

That  you  will  ne'er  forsake  my  hapless  children, 

But  henceforth  cherish,  comfort,  and  protect  them." 

The  generous  king,  in  pity  to  their  woes, 

Vowed  to  perform  what  (Edipus  desired. 


(E  DTP  US  CO  LONE  US, 

The  father  threw  his  feeble  arms  around 

Tlis  weeping  children.    "You,"  he  cried,  "must  learn 

To  bear  your  sutterings  with  an  equal  mind, 

And  leave  this  place ;  for  not  to  mortal  eye 

Is  given  to  see  my  future  fate.    Away ! 

Theseus  alone  must  stay,  and  know  it  all." 

This  did  we  hear  him  utter  as  we  stood 

Attentive ;  when  his  duteous  daughters  left  him, 

And  went  their  way,  we  wept,  and  followed  them. 

Soon  we  returned,  but  CEdipus  was  gone ; 

The  king  alone  remaining,  as  if  struck 

With  terror  at  some  dreadful  spectacle, 

Had  with  his  hand  o'er- veiled  his  downcast  eye ; 

A  little  after,  we  beheld  him  bend 

In  humble  adoration  to  the  earth, 

And  then  to  heaven  prefer  his  ardent  prayer. 

How  the  poor  exile  perished  none  can  tell 

But  Theseus ;  nor  the  fiery  blast  of  Jove 

Destroyed,  nor  sea  o'erwhelmed  him,  but  from  heaven 

Some  messenger  divine  did  snatch  him  hence, 

Or  power  infernal  bade  the  pitying  earth 

Open  her  peaceful  bosom  to  receive  him ; 

Without  a  groan,  disease,  or  pain  he  fell. 

'Twas  wondrous  all ;  to  those  who  credit  not 

This  strange  report,  I  answer,  'Tis  most  true. 

Chor.  Where  are  his  daughters,  with  their  weeping 
friends 
Who  followed  them? 

Mes.  They  cannot  be  far  off; 

The  voice  of  grief  I  hear  proclaims  them  nigh. 


Scene  II. 

Antigone,  Ismene  (loith  Attendants),  Messenger, 
Chorus. 


Ant.  Alas  !  the  time  is  come  when  we  must  weep 
Our  father's  fate,  the  fate  of  all  his  race 
Long  since  unhappy.    Various  were  the  toils, 


(EDI PUS  COLONEL'S. 

The  labours  we  endured,  but  this  is  far, 
Far  above  all,  unutterable  woe. 

Chor.  What  is  it? 

Ant.  Oh  !  it  cannot  be  conceived. 

Chor.  Is  he  then  dead  ? 

Ant.  He  is ;  his  death  was  straii-ge 

And  wonderful,  for  not  in  war  he  fell, 
Nor  did  the  sea  o'erwhelm  him,  but  the  earth 
Hath  hid  him  from  us ;  deadly  night  hath  closed 
Our  eyes  in  sadness ;  whether  o'er  the  seas 
We  roam,  or  exiles  in  a  foreign  land 
Lead  our  sad  days,  we  must  be  still  unhappy. 
Alas !  I  only  wish  I  might  have  died 
With  my  poor  father ;  wherefore  should  I  ask 
For  longer  life  ? 

Chor.  Ye  good  and  pious  daughters, 

Remember,  what  the  will  of  Heaven  decrees 
With  patience  we  must  bear ;  indulge  not  then 
Excess  of  grief — your  faith  hath  not  deserved  it. 

Ant.  Oh  !  I  was  fond  of  misery  with  him ; 
E'en  what  was  most  unlovely  grew  beloved 
When  he  was  with  me,     0  my  dearest  father ! 
Beneath  the  earth  now  in  deep  darkness  hid, 
Worn  as  thou  wert  with  age,  to  me  thou  still 
Wert  dear,  and  shalt  be  ever. 

Chor.  Now  his  course 

Is  finished. 

Ant.  Even  as  he  wished,  he  died 

In  a  strange  land — for  such  was  his  desire ; 
A  shady  turf  covered  his  lifeless  limbs ; 
Nor  unlamented  fell ;  for  oh  !  these  eyes. 
My  father,  still  shall  weep  for  thee,  nor  time 
Ere  blot  thee  from  my  memory. 

IsM.  Alas ! 

Alas  !  my  sister,  what  must  be  our  fate, 
Forlorn  and  helpless,  of  our  father  thus 
Bereft  ? 

Chor.  His  end  was  happy,  therefore  cease 
Your  fruitless  tears  :  from  sorrow  none  is  free. 

Ant.  Let  us  be  gone. 

IsM.  But  where  ? 


3i6 


(ED  IP  US  CO  LONE  US. 

J.  wish- 


Ism.*  Oh!  what? 

Ant.  To  see  the  tomb. 

Ism.  Whose  tomb  ? 

Ant.  Ouv  father's.    Oh ! 

IsM.  But  is  it  lawful  ?    Knowst  thou  that  ? 

Ant.  Why  thus 

Reprove  me,  my  Ismene  1 

Ism.                                   He  is  yet 
Un  buried,  and  without 

Ant.  Oh  !  lead  me  there, 

Then  kill  me  if  thou  wilt ;  for  where,  alas ! 
Can  I  betake  me  ? 

Chor.  Friends,  be  comforted. 

Ant.  Where  shall  lily? 

Chor,  Thou  hast  already  'scaped 

Unnumbered  ills. 

Ant.  I'm  thinking,  my  Ismene 

IsM.  What  thinkst  thou  % 

Ant.  How  we  shall  get  home. 

Chor.  No  more ; 

Thou  hast  been  long  familiar  with  affliction. 

Ant.  My  life  hath  ever  been  a  life  of  pain 
And  sorrow,  but  this  far  exceeds  them  all. 

Chor.  The  storm  beats  hard  upon  you. 

Ant.  Oh !  it  doth. 

Chor.  I  know  it  must. 

Ant.  Oh  !  whither  shall  we  fly  ? 

Great  Jove  !  what  hope  remains  ? 

Chor.  Suppress  your  griefs ; 

We  should  not  weep  for  those  who  wished  to  die, 
And  meet  their  fate  with  pleasure ;  'tis  not  just 
Nor  lawful  to  lament  them. 


Scene  III. 

Theseus,  Antigone,  Ismene,  Chorus. 

Ant.  Son  of  ^geus, 

Suppliant  to  thee  we  come. 


(EDIPUS  COLONEUS.  317 

The.  What  would  ye  of  me  % 

Ant.  Permit  us  but  to  see  our  father's  tomb. 

The.  It  is  not  lawful. 

Ant.  Oh  !  what  sayst  thou,  king '{ 

The.  Know,  pious  virgins,  CEdipus  himself 
Forbade  that  any  should  approach  his  tomb  \ 
That  sacred  spot,  which  he  possesses  there, 
ITo  mortal  must  profane  ;  to  me,  he  said, 
If  careful  I  performed  his  last  command, 
Should  joy  and  safety  come,  with  victory 
And  peace  to  Athens ;  this  your  gods  did  hear 
Confirmed  by  the  sacred  oath  of  Jove. 

Ant.  If  such  our  father's  will,  we  must  submit ; 
But,  oh  !  permit  us  to  revisit  Thebes, 
That  so  we  may  prevent  th'  impending  fate 
Of  pur  dear  brothers. 

The.  All  that  you  request, 

Or  may  be  grateful  to  that  honoured  shade 
Whose  memory  we  revere,  I  freely  grant ; 
For  I  must  not  be  weary  of  my  task. 

Choe.  Remember,  virgins,  to  repress  your  sorrows, 
And  cease  your  fruitless  grief ;  for  know,  'tis  all 
Decreed  by  fate,  and  all  the  work  of  Heaven. 


BRADBURY,    AQNKW,    &   CO.    LD.,    PBIWXKRS,    LOMbON    AiND    TONBHlOaE. 


'  '-  V-.'^I^-^^^K^^ 


^■^^- 


11 


Mm 


(Pa;  11 


ii 


if 


UNIVERSITY  OFCAIvIFORNIA  IvIBRARY 


i 


